Cross the Line
by MrSpockify
Summary: Things aren't going well for Kurt. Everything has taken a turn for the absolute worst. Can his loved ones show him that things are going to be ok before he crosses the line? T for Triggers.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: **I've been working on this story for a while, so I thought, "Why not put it up?" Enjoy, tell me what you think, etc. Thank you!

Also, I do not own Glee... Yet. Mwahaha!

No, but really, I don't. :(

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Lockers slammed all around him, and students passed by with loud feet and even louder mouths. Why some people felt they had to yell their conversations to the world, he would never know. A few students smiled as they made eye-contact. Others quickly averted their eyes and darted out of range. But that was to be expected. Just because he had returned to McKinley High, didn't mean any of the students had changed their opinions. Some were still highly homophobic and didn't want anything to do with him, and others just down right hated his guts.

Whatever, he thought with a smile. Every star has their fans, and every star has their haters. These people are just sending me one step closer to becoming famous. If they want to hate me, let them hate me. In fact, let them hate me with a passion. Because I'm back in this school, and I'm here to stay. And with their hatred, I'll be a celebrity in no time.

He held his head a little higher after that thought, and his steps were more confident. As a student scowled at him, he grinned. And as another student tried to avoid him entirely, he tapped them on the shoulder and said a quick friendly, "Hello," then walked off to his next class.

Since he had moved back to his old school from Dalton, he had felt pretty confident. Things were moving along smoothly. He wasn't getting bullied anymore, he and Blaine were getting closer, and all of his friends had welcomed him back with open arms. To put it frankly, everything was perfect. Especially the part about Blaine.

He grinned brightly at the thought of his uniformed boyfriend. He could almost see him now, parading down the hallway with the other Warblers in tow, serenading him with a thoughtfully picked song of choice. Blaine, in all of his dapper, hair-gelled beauty, would sway back and forth, looking excited and willing to sing anything for his boyfriend. He would end the song with a big finish, his triangle-eyebrows just fractions away from his hairline as they raised happily, and his mouth wide as he belted out the last note. They would look deeply into each other's eyes, then kiss romantically with a chorus of "Aw"'s in the background as bystanders clapped and cheered for the lovely couple.

Ahead of him, Brittany and Santana were holding hands, which surprised him. Usually they were holding pinkies. But he gained another peek at the two girls' hands, and they were, in fact, holding full hands today. He smiled slightly, putting his previous daydream into the back of his mind for later. The two former Cheerios were, as almost everyone in Glee knew, madly in love. However, he thought, frowning now, weren't Karofsky and Santana 'dating'. Sure, they were obviously each other's beards, but did they break up?

He stopped thinking about it, figuring he'd find out in Glee. If Santana and Brittany weren't in rehearsals, no doubt they were somewhere else in the school, all over each other with a flurry of kisses and touches. Or, perhaps, they'd come to rehearsals and do the same, just to spite Rachel. No doubt, the brunette would have a hissy fit if the entire club was distracted or ¾ _gasp _¾ turned on and too preoccupied to practice any sort of music. He could almost see the girl, standing off in a corner, her brown eyes wide and innocent as she shielded herself from the two lovers, and at the same time tried to calm everyone down.

He shook his head to clear it, thinking that he was getting way off track. At the moment, there was only one thing to be preoccupied by: Blaine Anderson. The uniformed prince had promised to take him out to dinner tonight, and he was, at the moment, having that anxious/sick feeling. His stomach was turning over and over onto itself, and he wondered briefly if he'd even be able to eat. And what if he puked? Or what if he puked on his boyfriend?

Suddenly his anxious feeling morphed into a full-on freak-out. He could feel his heart pounding, but not like it normally did when he thought of Blaine. Usually it was just a little erratic. But now, he wondered momentarily if he should go to the nurse. He couldn't even imagine a scenario where he puked on his date. He would probably die, right then and there. And Blaine would, probably, hate him for it anyway.

But more importantly, he thought suddenly, his panic escalating to incredible heights, what am I going to wear?

I can't do this! I can't do this! He was pretty sure he was having a heart attack at the moment. His class was just around the corner, but he didn't care. He stopped and rested his face on a cold locker. His cheeks were hot and his forehead was burning up. I'm sick, I can't go on a date with Blaine! But maybe I can… I mean, I'm sure I won't puke on him. I can hold it back long enough to get away from him. And I _really _want to see him…

With a final, decisive breath, he took his face off of the cool, metal locker door and straightened his jacket. There was no reason to get worked up about nothing. He was going on his date with Blaine, and he was going to enjoy himself. With his head held high and his chest puffed out confidently, he took a step forward…

And puked.

"Kurt!" Oh dear Gaga! He looked down before him at the monstrosity that was splattered all along the tile floor and a locker beside it. He didn't know whose locker it was, and he honestly didn't have any desire to figure it out. He was sure that he wouldn't want to see the expression on their face as they looked at the boy who barfed on their locker.

The boy looked up pitifully at Will Schuester, the teacher who had yelled his name. The man had run up to the sick student, dropping papers and snaking through students. He was staring at the mess on the floor, obviously trying not to look disgusted. He put a hand on Kurt's shoulder and smiled comfortingly. It didn't help.

"I'm so sorry…" He whispered, trying not hurl again when he caught a whiff of the gut-wrenching smell. He didn't dare look at it again. As he took deep breaths, he let Mr. Schue tug him away to the nurse's office. She said the obvious and sent him home, and Mr. Schue insisted on driving him, claiming he was too sick to drive himself. He didn't argue.

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><p>Kurt held his phone in his right hand, contemplating on whether or not to call his boyfriend or simply text him. Or just not contact him at all. He groaned -which sent him into a coughing fit- and covered his face with the thick blanket he was under. He couldn't cancel with Blaine. The Warbler had spent weeks planning the perfect date, and he couldn't bear to think of his boyfriend's beautiful face, frowning in disappointment as he stared down at his sick boyfriend.<p>

Suddenly a new fantasy popped up into Kurt's teenage mind. He smiled and giggled a little as he thought of Blaine taking care of him. He imagined him in a doctor's costume, asking him in a deep voice, "Where should I put the thermometer?" He was sent careening into a fit of laughter as he thought of how ridiculous that was. As if his dapper boy would ever use sexy phrases or pick-up lines on him. However, the idea wasn't exactly _un_appealing…

"How're you feeling?" Burt suddenly burst through Kurt's bedroom door, holding way too many things in his arms. He walked over to the bed, balancing the objects precariously in his hands. His son laughed as he set them all down near the sick teenager.

"I'm feeling the same as when you asked me five minutes ago." His voice was stuffy, and he sniffed, trying to clear his sinuses. He noticed Burt had brought him two boxes of tissues. "Only now I have to deal with a crisis."

Burt set two bottles of pills and a box of vitamins on his son's bedside table, then gave his son a small bowl of chicken soup. "What's your crisis?" He asked, opening a box of tissues and handing Kurt a mug of hot tea.

"I have to cancel my plans with Blaine."

"So?"

"_So_? We haven't hung out in forever. And he tried so hard planning this date. I can't just- DAD!" Kurt shoved his dad's hand away from his face. Burt had been moving to stick a thermometer into his mouth, and his other hand was pressed against his forehead. Kurt's face grew red as he was sadly reminded of his previous daydream. Somehow, it didn't seem as sexy now that his dad was the one with the thermometer.

"You feel warm. I think you're running a temperature." Burt squinted and held out the thermometer, leaving his son to take his own temperature. After making sure that Kurt stuck it under his tongue properly, he stood up and stuck his hands into the depths of his pockets. "If you need _anything_ just call me. I'll check on you in a few minutes." His son rolled his eyes.

"Really, that's not necessary, dad. I can take care of myself." Kurt snapped, then instantly regretted the words once they were out of his mouth. Burt winced fractionally and nodded, looking away from his son. He was obviously stung by what had been said.

"I know, I know." He sighed and patted his son's perfectly styled hair. Even when he was sick, he had to look at least _sort of _fabulous. "I keep forgetting you're not my little boy." Kurt reached up and grabbed his dad's hand as he walked away, then let it slip from his fingers.

"Love you," he said feebly, holding back a coughing fit as his dad exited his room. Burt grunted affectionately in response and closed the door quietly, leaving Kurt to stare around himself at the array of things his dad had left him. Tissues, Tylenol, vitamins, tea, soup… A sick man's dream. He smiled inwardly. His dad really cared about him. _Really_ cared. When he was young and he would get sick, his dad would do this same thing. He would go way overboard, going to the store to get anything and everything that anybody suggested for his sick son. Even if he just had a stuffy nose, Burt wouldn't rest until Kurt was feeling one-hundred percent.

Kurt sighed in content and breathed in the hot smell of his soup. As much as he hated to admit it, he loved it when his dad spoiled him like this. It made him feel special. He took a sip of his tea, surprised at just how many herbs there were in it. The strong, bitter tea burnt the roof of his mouth, and he set it aside for later. As he set the mug down, his hand brushed up against his phone.

He really did need to call Blaine…

The sick teenager groaned and stared deeply into his soup. Setting the hot food aside next to his tea, he covered himself with his blanket, pulling it up to his nose so only his eyes peeked over the rim. He watched the wall for a few minutes before yawning.

Maybe he could call Blaine in a few minutes…


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_You make me,_

_Feel like I'm living a,_

_Teenage Dream._

_The way you turn me on,_

_I can't sleep…_

True that, Kurt thought, finally waking up to the sound of his phone ringing. He kept his eyes shut, willing his phone to stop making that incisive noise. Katy Perry wailing into his ears was not a nice way to get up in the morning…

BLAINE! Kurt catapulted from bed, no longer feeling groggy. It had taken him a moment to remember that he had set that as Blaine's ring tone. Suddenly the song wasn't so obnoxious as he thought of his boyfriend dancing and howling out the lyrics wonderfully as always. Wow, I've turned into one of _those _people, he thought, laughing at himself.

He grabbed his phone, and it flashed back at him that he just missed a call. Then, pressing another button, he realized he actually had _fifteen _missed calls. Not to mention the thirty-two missed texts. He went through a few of them, but after he read one that stated, "Kurt, I don't know if you're ignoring me or you're hurt somewhere, but please let me know or I'm coming all the way down there to see for myself!" he stopped to listen to a voicemail. He heard a worried Blaine through his speaker, and his voice was loud and a little more high-pitched than usual.

"Kurt, _please_ answer your phone! What's going on? Are you hurt? Why didn't you show up last night? What's going on?" He thought he heard the Warbler's voice crack near the end of the message, as if he was about to start crying. He didn't sound angry at all; just deeply concerned. Kurt dialed his boyfriend's number and looked at the time. He had half an hour until school started. Great…

He held the phone between his ear and his shoulder as it rang, and he sprinted around his room, trying to get ready quickly enough. After taking his temperature and deciding he didn't feel nauseous, Kurt started to face the impossible task: finding what to wear in a short amount of time.

_Beep… beep… beep… _Kurt groaned loudly into the phone. Why was it busy? He hung up and looked down at the screen, only to find that Blaine was, in fact, calling him right at that moment. Right before he was able to press 'answer', the call was disconnected.

"No!" He shouted loudly, summoning a worried Burt to his room. The dad looked shocked and worried as he examined his flustered son, asking over and over if he was alright. After shooing his dad away and insisting he was fine, Kurt waited once more for Blaine to call. Surely enough, a few seconds later, Katy Perry started to sing to him.

"Blaine," Kurt sighed into the phone, pulling out random clothes and throwing them on. He grabbed his keys and went to the front door, waving to his dad and heading outside.

"What the hell, Kurt? I thought you might be dead!" Blaine was screaming into the phone, but Kurt could tell he was relieved more than anything.

"Well-"

"Seriously, don't ever do that to me again! I was so worried…" He trailed off, and Kurt could hear him breathing heavily on the other end of the phone.

"I'm sorry, I meant to call you, I just-… Um, hello." Kurt tilted his head and tried not to laugh. Blaine was so sweet. "What are you doing in my driveway?"

"What? Oh…" Blaine looked up from his steering wheel and grinned lopsidedly at his boyfriend. After a moment's hesitation he whispered seductively into the phone, "I'm sorry, I have to go. There's a gorgeous man right outside of my car." After they both hung up and put their phones away, Blaine rocketed out of his car and straight up to Kurt, wrapping his arms around the boy and covering him in kisses.

"Blaine, what-"

"Shhh!" Blaine quieted his boyfriend with a heavy kiss to the mouth, and he ran his hand through his slightly messy hair. Though he wouldn't _dare _tell Kurt that his hair was messy. To do so would not only be a sin, it would be a death sentence.

But at the moment, the Warbler wasn't thinking about hair or committing suicide by telling his boyfriend that he looked a little unkempt. All he was thinking about was how relieved he was. For several _hours_ he didn't get a single answer. His text messages, phone calls, e-mails, voicemails, and very desperate shouts out of his window had all gone unanswered, and he had no idea why. For all he had known, Kurt had been lying face-down in some ditch near the highway, bleeding severely and calling out for futile help while fending off rats and other parasitic animals that wanted to eat him.

"I love you so, so ,so much. Please, baby, don't ever do that again. You had me worried sick." Blaine had seemed to calm down a bit. He was still latched onto his boyfriend, but at least now he wasn't shouting into his ear relentlessly. "I don't know what I would have done if something had happened. I almost called the police, but I didn't. I should have. I should have…" Kurt needed to step in. He watched as his boyfriend stared off into space, his brown eyes wide and his lips turned down at the edges.

"No, you shouldn't have. I was fine, I just got a little sick at school and fell asleep at home before I could tell you. You shouldn't have called the police, nothing happened." Kurt grabbed his boyfriend's cheeks, trying to get him to look into his eyes. Blaine's eyes finally bore into his with a passion. He seemed to be angry suddenly, and he wondered why.

"What if something _had _happened? What if you _were_ hurt? It would have been _my _fault." Kurt shook his head and gently rubbed a finger against his boyfriend's jaw line. It was covered in stubble, and Kurt couldn't help but think of how sexy that was. Had he skipped shaving last night for me? He smiled slightly, which only seemed to anger Blaine even more. "Why are you smiling? This is serious!" The Warbler ripped himself away from Kurt's comforting hands and stomped over to his car, his fists clenched and his eyes starting to water. "You could have been hurt, and I didn't call the police. I just stayed at home and stared at my phone like some _idiot_. God, I was so stupid, I-"

"Blaine, shut up." Kurt watched as his boyfriend turned to stare wide-eyed at him. Blaine's mouth was dropped open and he was wrapping himself in his own arms. He had never told him to shut up before… Kurt placed his hands on his sides and shook his head. "You, sir, are not an idiot." He started walking towards the Warbler, and the dapper young man pressed his back against his car, watching him with an intense stare. Kurt put his hands on the car on either side of Blaine and moved his face to be barely an inch from his. They were so close, Kurt could feel Blaine's exasperated breath. "You are an extremely attractive, intelligent man whom I love," he pressed a small kiss on the Warbler's cheek, "and will continue to love," another kiss to the other cheek, "no matter what." He planted one final kiss on Blaine's lips, then backed up and seemed to suddenly remember that he needed to get to school. "Can you move your car?" he asked, pointing to the garage, where his dad's car was waiting for him.

"I'll drive you, baby," Blaine said in a sing-song voice, swinging his keys around on his finger. Kurt rolled his eyes at his silly boyfriend and got in the care, grinning happily.

"Just don't embarrass me," he joked.

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><p>The parking lot was surprisingly short of students as Blaine drove up to the front door to drop him off. They exchanged a quick peck to each other's lips, then Kurt gave the other an odd look. He seemed amused and confused at the same time.<p>

"Does Dalton have an off day today or something?" He asked suspiciously, looking at his boyfriend with a raised eyebrow.

"No," Blaine responded, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "But you're more important to me than school." They exchanged one more kiss, this one a little more romantic, and then the student was off, completely elated.

Blaine thinks I'm more important than school, Kurt thought for the umpteenth time as he walked into the school. Too caught up in his romantic thoughts about his elegant and most certainly handsome boyfriend, Kurt hadn't been aware of the direction he was heading. As he wandered past the gym lockers, he hadn't paid attention as a student strolled after him, a cup held firmly in their hand.

What else am I more important than to him? Would he pick me over singing? That's hard to believe; I've seen the face he makes as he sings. He is most definitely in love with performing. But then again, he loves me, too…

Kurt giggled slightly, feeling a bit ridiculous. His fantasies were becoming more and more strange. Soon enough, he'd be daydreaming about Blaine sprinting up to him wearing nothing but tights, holding a sword and insisting that he take his hand and fly away with him. Although, the tights part wasn't too awful.

Suddenly, a cold sensation took over his entire body. He felt ice dripping down the back of his body, seeping into his pants and ruining his shirt. He could smell the strong scent of a cherry slushy, and he knew immediately what had happened. Whipping his body around, he caught a glimpse of someone sprinting off, laughing hysterically.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," he mumbled, slinging red, sticky liquid off of his hands. He didn't even want to know what his clothes looked like. No doubt, it probably looked like someone had been murdered on his back.

With a indignant expression, Kurt made his way to the restrooms. Though right before he entered the men's room, he thought better of it and went into the lady's room. They were nicer there, anyway. However, he was glad that he was the only one there at the moment. Walking over to the sink, he threw his façade to the side and let the dejected expression take over his face. He was alone, so he might as well own up to how he was feeling. This sucked, and he knew it.

But what he read in the mirror only made it worse.

In big letters across the mirror, mocking him as he stared at them, Kurt read to himself, 'check ur locker fag!' It was written in what looked like red lipstick. But the words themselves didn't hurt as much as where they were written.

They knew he was going to go to the girl's bathroom. They knew that if they poured a slushy down his back then ran off, he wouldn't go to a teacher, he wouldn't cry out and go after them like some savage beast, and he wouldn't go into the boy's bathroom. They knew exactly what he was going to do.

And they also knew he was going to check out his locker.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>And the bullying begins…

Also, the part where he reads the message on the mirror was slightly inspired by a message I read in a bathroom stall at school. Though the one I read made me laugh. It stated, 'reme has and std.' and next to it, 'reme slepted with her daddy'. Somebody's not in Honors English…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:** I want to thank people for adding me to their alert lists. It makes me happy to see that. :)

And thank you very much, GleeLoveBabe, for being the only person to review. You are truly awesome!

Also, I have changed the summary. The story idea is pretty much the same, but now it just doesn't revolve around Karofsky. _(Oh, and anyone else wondering where he is in the show?)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Burt had come to love his son for the way he was. No, he wasn't thinking particularly about Kurt being gay. He had already come to love his son for being different and embracing himself, not to mention he was proud of the fact that the kid had the guts to be who he was openly. But, that aside, Burt was thinking more about Kurt's unpredictability. It was always a roller coaster with his son. One moment everything was elated and joyful, and he would be happy as could be. Then, the next moment, everything would plummet and become gruesome and dramatic. Teenage hormones took over, and everything was like a bad, angst-y movie. The simplest thing would become a world problem that needed to be taken care of immediately.

But Burt didn't mind. In fact, he kind of enjoyed the irregularity of his son. He loved the random situations that popped up and exploded all over their life. Each issue was a bonding opportunity, and he would get to know his son a little bit better. Kurt was, all in all, like a good outfit(Oh, God, Kurt was rubbing off on him in so many ways…). Each layer you added, each layer you found and pieced together, would create a masterpiece. And you had to dig deep within the cave that was a closet. Each layer was hard to find, but the harder you tried, the more layers you uncovered to piece together with the outfit. Here and there would be a small scarf or cufflink, and you would have that much more to add on and see what the final piece was: Kurt Hummel.

However, Burt couldn't honestly say he enjoyed it when his son burst through the door, tears dripping down his cheeks and his expression contorted with pain. It was hardly ever physical pain; his boy was strong. But emotional pain came often. Too often, he thought, watching Kurt sprint off to his room, obviously trying to hide his tears from his dad. But Burt saw, and now he had to do something about it. This was usually the part where he found another shoelace or a zipper.

He tip-toed to his son's room, stopping outside the door. From inside, he could hear the pitiful sobs of a heartbroken teenager. He could almost see Kurt, lying on his bed, cuddled up to something soft. His face would be scrunched up in either anger or sadness, or perhaps both. The red-faced boy would be soaking his pillow with his tears, bawling and wishing he had some other person's life. An easier life.

As tough as Burt knew his son was, he wasn't indestructible. Things had torn him down before, and it was bound to happen again. That hard outer shell had been penetrated before, and now there was a new weakness there. Kurt had felt that pain, and now he was afraid of it. He didn't want to go back to that. He didn't want to experience it again. But as Burt knocked quietly on the door, he knew his son was feeling it again. He knew by the choked, furious voice that told him to go away, that Kurt was experiencing that awful pain.

"Kurt, let me in." He said gently, knocking one more time. He knew he could have easily just opened the door and waltzed in; Kurt never locked his door, even when he was this upset. But entering the room seemed like an invasion of privacy. And Kurt was already upset, so there was no reason to poke the bear.

"NO!" Burt flinched at his son's response. The quick, harsh reply was nothing to be angry at. His son was very sad, and Burt was sure he had a good reason to be. He hoped slightly, though, that it was one of his dramatic moments. Kurt didn't need more reasons to be an angry teenager. He already had plenty, and Burt was fortunate enough that his son wasn't over-the-top, drama-drugged, and hormonally imbalanced as it was.

He sighed and leaned against the wall by his son's door. There was sniffling from the other side, and he imagined Kurt sitting up on his bed, glaring at the door which he knew his father was hiding behind. Burt paused for a few seconds, listening and waiting for the sobs to die down. When all he heard was the uneven and ragged breaths of the after-shock of Kurt's outburst, he used on knuckle to knock on the door.

"Kurt, please let me in. I want to help." It was awkward, trying to tell his son he wanted to help. Of course he wanted to help. But for some reason, saying it out loud made it seem insincere. Silence followed his demand, and he almost heard the gears spinning in Kurt's mind. Should he let him in? Should he send him away? Was he serious? Burt waited patiently, knowing that to rush Kurt would be futile. The teenager needed time to think, and he was going to get it one way or the other. If he tried to speed up the process, he'd only slow it down.

"Come in." Kurt spoke so quietly that Burt barely heard him. He opened the door slowly, just in case he had heard wrong. But, sure enough, he was allowed into the room. Kurt looked over at his dad, his eyes puffy and red, and his lips swollen and shaking. Burt could tell his son was both infuriated and hurt at the same time. His chest was still rising and falling randomly, and Burt could tell his son was trying not to burst into another fit of tears.

Burt made his way hesitantly over to his son, and Kurt watched him with wide eyes the entire time. He almost felt pressured to do exactly the right thing as he sat next to his son and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. They were strong, sturdy shoulders, and he wondered briefly how someone who seemed so strong on the outside could be so damaged and miserable on the inside.

"It's ok to cry." Burt said simply, and that did it. Kurt broke down again, right in front of his eyes. He watched in horror as his son let the tears spill over, curling into himself as if that could protect him from the world. Kurt sobbed and choked on his own emotions, gasping for air and grasping for Burt. He let his son latch onto his shoulders and his clothes, and he didn't mind as his shirt became soaked cold with salty tears. He held his son tightly, trying to contain his violent shivers and quakes that came after each deep, throaty sob.

He didn't know what was wrong with Kurt, but he knew it was something big. As he looked down at his broken and pitiful son, he felt bad for thinking that this could have just been an overly-dramatic teenage rant. To think that something so pointless could have caused…_this_, was a crime. He felt terrible for even briefly wondering such a thing.

And as Burt watched his son unfold before him, revealing clothing item after clothing item, he felt the pain. As an outfit was splayed out forcefully beneath his fingers, he could feel every ounce of pain his son felt. Every deafening sob that rumbled through Kurt's body echoed within his own. His son shook brutally in his arms, and he could feel the trembles building up in his own chest. And after a while, he started to cry too.

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><p>Kurt felt overwhelmed as he lay in his dad's arms. Burt had fallen to pieces after what seemed like hours of holding his tearful son. He looked up at the strong man that held him and felt another wave of tears come over him. Never in his entire life could he have guessed he had this much emotion in him. Never in his life could he have guessed he could cry for this long.<p>

He gripped his dad's shirt collar tighter, pressing his sore, wet face up to the soft cloth. He felt comfort in it as he sobbed relentlessly, and he felt even more comfort in the arms that had him in a tight, heavy hug. His dad was squeezing him ridiculously hard, and he felt grateful for it. He need the comfort.

As he curled up, not even trying to prevent his shaking anymore, he could almost forget about the horrible picture he had found in his locker. Blaine's school picture, the one he had hung up and smiled at every morning. The one with Blaine's perfect grin and perfect hair. The one with the always-present Dalton jacket.

But it was no longer perfect. They had crumpled it, but not before writing things unspeakable over the blue-and-red striped tie. Not before writing obscenities all over his beautiful face. Not before writing the threat over his neck. And the letters that had replaced the previous message, 'Courage', were even worse. Kurt sobbed loudly at the mention of things that they would do to Blaine. He wanted to scream as he thought of what would happen if they actually did them.

And they might.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>I hope no one minds emotional Kurt. Please review and tell me what you think, give suggestions, etc. I really do listen to suggestions. Do I always act upon them? No. But I will not get angry. I promise. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes: **Ok, so in this chapter there are flashbacks to show what happened the previous day, when Kurt went home crying. They are in italics, so they stand out.

Also, thank you again, GleeLoveBabe, for reviewing. And thank you ColferFan1217 for reviewing. (PS: I'm a Colfer fan too! Haha) And thank you everyone or the alerts, favorites, etc. :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Oh, Gaga, I can't do this. I can't come back here. I just can't.

Kurt looked over his shoulder briefly at Burt, who was sitting in his car, watching his son intently as he walked into McKinley High. He had offered to drop Kurt off, and they decided Blaine would pick him up after school. But now, as he stared at the gaping mouth that was the front entrance, he was having second thoughts. Of course, his dad would never let him go back here if he knew what really happened. All his dad knew was that he got slushied. He had told him no more than that. The pictures were still hidden in his backpack, and he was sure there would be more threats littering his locker when he checked it. But he had to do this, for his dad's sake. Burt couldn't handle more stress.

Oh, he was actually doing it. His feet were moving, bringing him closer and closer to the entrance. Left, right, left, right, right, right… He stumbled awkwardly, but regained his balanced. With a huff, his face now red, and his fingers gripped tightly at his backpack straps, he walked forward faster, just wanting to get this over with. As the door loomed closer to him, he felt complete and utter dread wash over his stomach, and he prayed that the nauseas feeling would pass. He didn't need another puke incident.

He took a step inside the school.

_He rushed outside into the chilly air, tears streaming down his face. He was disgusted at himself for letting them do this. For letting them get to him like this. He wiped away snot, then fell to the ground for a moment, holding himself tight, his legs to his chest. He pressed his forehead to his knees, angrily grunting and attempting to stop his gut-wrenching sobs. How dare them? What gave them the right to send him careening into this pitiful state? He wailed quietly to himself one last time before standing and sprinting to his car. He just wanted to go home; to get away from them._

As he fell into step along with a group of students heading down the hallway, he looked around and furrowed his brow. Nothing was different. Students were crowded at every corner, talking and minding their own business. Some smiled politely at him, and others avoided eye contact, as always. There were no riots, yelling at him to get his faggy self off of campus. There were no petitions ordering the bullying to stop. There were no differences. It was McKinley High, as it always was.

He was almost hurt by this. No, he _was _hurt. Something bad had happened to him, and, as always, no one cared. He looked around at students, and none of them seemed any different. They didn't treat him like something bad had happened. They didn't even treat him like something had happened period. They went on with their daily business. He even passed a student, a jock, that usually bullied him. The bulky teenager gave him no notice.

He turned a corner.

_Kurt catapulted through the hallway, his legs moving faster than they ever had before. He had to get out. He had to leave. As he turned a corner too fast, he slipped and ran into a wall. He was so pathetic, it made him want to die. Regaining his balance, he shot forward again, ignoring the shouts of a teacher wanting to know his name. She didn't need to know. She didn't really care. No one did. _

Who did it? The thought suddenly struck Kurt that he had no idea who had left the photos and messages in his locker. He had just assumed it had been one of his old bullies. But why? He had come back to this school quite a while ago, so why not then? And why with such force? He shuddered just thinking about the letters hidden in his backpack. They were cruel. Not because it was a hate crime against him, but because they were aimed at something he loved. He couldn't even imagine them putting Blaine through those sorts of things. He couldn't even imagine who would have come up with them.

He placed his fingers hesitantly on his lock, then turned it slowly to the left.

_He pulled open the locker, and it took him a moment to realize what he was staring at. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't known what to expect, but… this? He reached in and took one of the papers. There were dozens piled upon each other, taking up all of the space. With trembling fingers, he unfolded what he discovered was a letter. In sloppy, hard to read cursive, was a threat. But it didn't tell him he should die, or that he needed to commit suicide. No, that would be too lenient. He read the first line, 'I'm going to kill your boyfriend.' He didn't need to read the rest to know that each letter and piece of paper held similar threats. But he did. He stood there, weak-kneed, and read each life-threatening word. And each seemed to be worse than the last. They became more violent and detailed, telling them how Blaine was going to be tortured. They gruesomely explained why and how everything would take place. But the picture, with frayed edges and 'FAG' written sloppily on the face, was the thing that made him sob. _

Moment of truth, Kurt thought, pulling his locker open just a fraction. He didn't want to open it. He didn't want to find more letters. He didn't want to think of Blaine that way. He closed his eyes and repeated Blaine's word of wisdom in his mind. Courage… Courage… Courage… He could almost see Blaine smiling at him, a hand placed on his shoulder, telling him that it was going to be ok. They were only letters.

"Only letters," he whispered under his breath, then ripped the door to his locker open. He peered inside, his heart pounding. His eyes searched every corner and wall of the small space, trying to find any hint of anyone being in here. After shuffling around a few textbooks and looking under his things, he was glad to find that nothing was there. No more threats.

"Hey, Kurt!" He turned at the sound of his voice, searching. His eyes fell on Mercedes as she strolled up to him, textbooks in hand and a wide grin on her face. He got his things, closed his locker, and they began walking off together. He smiled back at her, feeling a little better. The stupid threats were over with, and his best friend was here.

"Why, hello, my dear," he said in a theatrical voice, pursing his lips.

"Where were you yesterday?" She asked, looking a little unnerved. He had forgotten to tell her he was home sick. Of course, he thought, I also forgot to tell Blaine, so…

"I got sick at school. Like, really got sick." He paused for a minute, his expression growing grim. "I threw up on a locker." He tried to ignore the small snort that came from his friend, pretending she was just clearing her throat. Certainly his best friend in the world wouldn't be laughing at his pain. He shot her a cruel glance, but when she shrugged apologetically he smiled.

"Blaine sent me a text yesterday, asking where you were."

"Really?" So he hadn't only attacked Kurt with messages, but his friends too? He chuckled slightly and shook his head. Blaine, he supposed, could be a bit protective.

"Yeah," she said, then bit her lip. After grinning and trying not to laugh, she continued, "And he called me. And e-mailed me. And left me voicemails." Kurt was shocked. He stared at his friend, wide-eyed and kind of embarrassed. Because, it was, of course, his boyfriend who had done these. When he saw that Mercedes was going to continue, he felt an amused yet humiliated dread spread over him. Somehow, he knew what was coming next. "And he did the same for every member of the Glee club."

Of course, he thought grimly. Kurt felt mortified at first; he could just imagine Blaine contacting every single Glee club member, demanding where his boyfriend was and not taking, "I don't know," for an answer. But after a moment of dwelling on it, he almost felt flattered. It was sweet that his boyfriend cared so much about him.

But he was still going to complain to Blaine later.

"Anyway," Mercedes said with a smile, knowing the Warbler was going to get it later, "I'll see you in Glee." They said their goodbyes and Kurt walked off to his next class, shaking his head. He didn't even want to think about what the other members of New Directions would say to him in rehearsal. Mercedes was his best friend, so she knew it was all in good fun. But what about Puck? Or Mike? Or, good Gaga, Brittany? He could practically see the blond holding her phone to her ear, face scrunched up as she tried to recall who the hell Blaine Anderson was.

Kurt laughed inwardly and walked on, a small smile still playing at the edge of his lips. He felt much better about everything. The letters had been a stupid practical joke, his boyfriend was over-protective, and now he was happily off to his next class.

That is, until he felt a strong hand on the middle of his back, then he was suddenly colliding face-first with a locker.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> This chapter is a little short, I think, but I hope it was ok. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Note:** I am so sorry for this slow update! My computer stopped working, then I had to read 105 pages of a book, then there was some Geometry involved, and don't even get me started the car I had to build! But I digress...

I really am sorry that I haven't updated. But my computer wouldn't turn on so I couldn't work on it or post anything.

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

There was something about the taste of a student's cold, metal locker that was comforting to Kurt. It reminded him of old times, when he was merely pushed into a locker or two per day, and occasionally thrown into a dumpster before school. It reminded him of the times before everything was so complicated. Before the bullying had become more violent and cruel. As he peeled himself off of the locker and wiped his slobber off of the tan surface, he felt like he was slipping back into his old routine. Only this time, there were threatening letters and evil words being hurled at not only him, but his boyfriend.

He turned to try and find the culprit. His eyes wandered for a moment before closing in on a student. He was walking off in the opposite direction, although he seemed to be trying to get away rather quickly.

"Hey!" Kurt shouted, walking off in his direction. When the student didn't stop, but took off at a faster pace, he knew he had the right guy. "Hey!" He shouted again, louder this time. This guy was trying to get away! He didn't want to face the consequences. Kurt zipped through students, whereas the person in front of him was barreling through other students, knocking them to the side and elbowing them to the floor. People watched them both as they ran past, glaring and muttering amongst each other.

"Kurt? Kurt! Are you alright?" Mr. Schue placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder and slowed him to a stop. The teenager was forced to look away from the sprinting bully, but not before he caught a peek at the school-colored letterman jacket. He regretfully looked into the teacher's worried eyes and nodded crisply.

"I'm fine, Mr. Schue," his voice was short and tight, and he was trying to not glare. Kurt didn't blame his teacher for having terrible timing.

"You sure? You're not going to be sick again?" The curly-haired teacher dropped his fingers from his shoulder, but looked like he'd be ready to carry the student off to the nurse if necessary.

"No, no. Really, I'm fine, I just wanted to get to class," Kurt smiled believably, and Mr. Schue nodded curtly and walked off, obviously not very convinced. When the teacher was out of sight, Kurt ran off in the direction that he had been heading. When he turned the corner, he paused. The hallways was empty. Empty of students, teachers, and the jerk who shoved him against a locker. Vaguely, he heard the tardy bell ring, but he didn't care. Kurt slumped against a locker and sighed, his eyes starting to tear up. He looked back and forth one more time, then squeezed himself tightly and shut his eyes, wishing it'd stop sometime soon.

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><p>"It's good to have you back, Kurt. Maybe now we can actually get work done," Rachel snapped, giving a pointed look towards certain members of the club. The certain members, of course, being Santana and Puck, who, in turn, snickered and sent amused looks to each other. Kurt held back a grin and sat down next to Mercedes.<p>

"Santana and Puck refused to sing any songs yesterday. Rachel was furious!" Mercedes whispered into his ear, laughing. A giggled bubbled up behind Kurt's lips, and when he snorted, Rachel shot him a look of despair.

"Not you too," she said in an overly-exasperated voice, putting a hand to her forehead. "Really, it's a wonder how we get any work done here. Thank goodness I actually have a sensible mind. Mr. Schue, if you could pass these out to everyone?" She handed the confused teacher a stack of sheet music and pranced off to the center of the room, beaming with pride. As Puck got his paper, he tossed it to the side and leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Schue!" Rachel screamed, looking like she was about to cry.

"I leave and the entire Glee club falls to bits. Typical," Kurt whispered quietly into Mercedes' ear, and they both giggled. He threw his scarf over his shoulder dramatically and crossed his legs.

"Puck, please sing," Mr. Schue said, sending nervous glances towards Rachel. Kurt didn't know what had gone down while he was gone, but it evidently hadn't been pretty. With a frown, the rebel picked up his music and grumbled something about freedom and bad-ass-ery.

"This song is from one of my favorite musicals, and I think it complements my voice beautifully," she announced, placing her hands on her hips. Even Kurt couldn't help but roll his eyes at her. This was ridiculous. "Brad?" The piano player nodded and put his hands gingerly on the white keys. "Hit it!"

"I wish I could hit _her_," Santana muttered from where she was sitting. Most of the Glee clubbers agreed.

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><p>Kurt walked out of the Glee room with a smile on his face. Halfway through Rachel's song, Puck had jumped up onto his chair and screamed, "Now waaaaa-iiiiit a minute! You know you make me want to shout!" And suddenly everyone had joined in, jumping around the classroom and singing at the top of their lungs. The brunette had gaped in horror, pouting and refusing to join along. He smiled, remembering her angry comment on discipline.<p>

But suddenly he was smiling for a whole different reason. Staring at one of the posters on the wall, his boyfriend was tugging at his tie. Kurt smiled and sprinted up to him, enveloping him in a surprise hug-attack.

"How long have you been here?" He demanded, crossing his arms once he had properly kissed him a few times.

"Since your school got out. I forgot you had Glee," he replied, grinning lopsidedly.

"You're going to get kicked out of Dalton, Blaine. You never show up."

"Eh, who cares? That'd just mean I'd get to spend more time with you," he said slowly, leaning in and pressing a slow, warm kiss to Kurt's lips. They both moaned quietly, smiling.

"Ooh la la," Santana called, whistling as she walked by. Rolling behind her, Artie grinned and shook his head as if he disapproved.

"Keep it PG, you two," he warned, shaking a finger at them. They laughed and walked on, holding hands. Since it was after school, they didn't have to worry about anyone sending them rude comments. Kurt leaned into his boyfriend and was grateful for the empty halls. He didn't feel the need to look over his shoulder every time the two of them shared a glance.

On one of the walls, there was a huge poster with handcuffs on it. Below the handcuffs, in huge letters, was, "Click it or ticket," then a phone number. Kurt looked over at his boyfriend, imagining him as one of those cheesy policeman strippers you always saw in the sitcoms. Blaine had on a sparkling hat and too-short short-shorts. Kurt almost laughed, but it actually seemed to be kind of cute. In a strange, amusing way…

"Have you been naughty?" Blaine asked abruptly, pulling Kurt out of his daydream.

"Huh?" Kurt gasped, shocked. Had Blaine known what he was thinking about? His face grew bright red and suddenly his scarf felt too hot and heavy.

"You keep staring at those posters with the speeding ticket warnings." Blaine pointed to one, smiling slightly. "Did you speed or something?"

"Oh, uh… No, no. I just think it's, um… A nice poster," Kurt looked ahead of him, focusing only on walking. He ignored the chuckling that was coming from the man beside him, hoping that Blaine hadn't been reading his thoughts. Oh, Gaga, the humiliation he'd feel if Blaine could do that. Kurt didn't even want to begin thinking about the embarrassing moments his boyfriend would know about. All of the thoughts he had… Kurt shivered, trying to clear his mind, just in case.

They walked into the parking lot, letting go of each other's hands automatically out of habit. It was always a good precaution to take when exiting a building. Who knew who would be on the other side of the door? They didn't need to take any chances.

"My car!" Blaine exclaimed furiously, sprinting over to his car. Kurt stared in horror at what was before him. Someone had keyed the side of his car several time, leaving long, jagged lines. Blaine ran his fingers over the serrated edges, wincing as he looked at the destroyed paintwork. His eyes grazed painfully over his slashed tires and cracked window. Opening the passenger door, which had a huge hole put through the window, Blaine pulled out a piece of paper. He read it, then turned to Kurt, holding it up for him to read.

**You're lucky he wasn't in the car, queer. **

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><p><strong>Note:<strong> Another thing I forgot to mention was that I actually have a few more chapters written, so I know what's going to happen so far. But, I'd like to know what my readers want to see. What kind of things would you like to see happen here? Who do you want to pop up? Etc. I'd like to hear your responses. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Note: **Alright, so, I am updating this now because I won't be home over the weekend and I won't get much written in the next week or so. Therefore, my next update may be in a couple weeks(or it may be a lot sooner than I expect. Who knows?). So without further ado, Chapter six:

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

"I'll call Burt," Kurt whispered, pulling out his phone. He punched in the numbers, feeling completely numb. His chest was heavy, and he could hardly breath. His fingers, quivering, kept slipping up and he had to redial several times. He couldn't even look at Blaine. Every time he saw his boyfriend from the corner of his eye, all he could see was what would have happened. Blaine would be lying in the parking lot, bloody and bruised.

"Hello?" Burt asked, but Kurt couldn't reply. Suddenly it became a chore to just stand up. Shaking uncontrollably, he fell to his knees and dropped the phone, burying his face in his hands. Blaine picked up the dropped cell phone and held it to his own ear.

"Hello?" From the other end of the line, Blaine could hear stomping feet and the light shuffling of clothes.

"Kurt? What happened? What's wrong?" Burt replied anxiously, and the Warbler could hear the dad's heavy breathing. Burt was freaking out.

"Sir, this is Blaine Anderson. Kurt and I are fine, there was just an incident at his school. My car is kind of…" he trailed off, glancing over at his ruined vehicle. "Well, it needs to be towed."

"Oh thank God!" Burt exclaimed, and Blaine could almost see the dad slumping against a wall, relieved that his son was fine. He seemed to remember he was still on the phone after a few silent moments, and cleared his throat to speak again. "Are you still at the school?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Alright, I'll be right there. Don't go anywhere," he said sternly, the slamming of a door in the background.

"Yes, sir," Blaine murmured into the phone, smiling slightly. He liked his boyfriend's dad. He was understanding and generous, a stark difference from his own father, who couldn't hardly look at his son without gagging. Burt was like a sanctuary father-figure for him. Whenever he had doubts about any father being kind and gentile, he thought of Kurt's dad. Blaine sniffled slightly, wondering just how much Burt would do for him. Probably a lot. "Thank you," he whispered, swallowing back a lump in his throat.

"Blaine, you listen here. My son loves you, and I know that. You're like a son to me, and if you ever need anything, _anything_, you ask me. Ok?"

"Ok," Blaine choked out, his eyes watering. They both hung up, and Blaine pocketed the phone for the moment, staring over at Kurt. He had stopped crying, but was blankly staring forward, a distant expression on his face. His eyes were red and irritated, and Blaine vaguely remembered them looking the same (albeit a little less raw) before Kurt had begun crying. Had he been crying before today? Blaine frowned, but quickly pushed the thought aside and grabbed his boyfriend's arm, tugging him up.

"Let's go inside," he said gently into his ear, putting an arm around his waist. Kurt leaned into Blaine heavily, and the smaller boy struggled slightly to hold him up. It wasn't that Kurt was overweight, he was just disproportional to the Warbler. "I don't want to be around if they come back," he added, sending nervous glances over each shoulder.

The two boys slowly made their way inside. Once they were safely in the door, Blaine let Kurt slump to the floor, and he crouched beside him. The taller boy buried his face in his knees, sighing deeply. When the other boy tried to comfort him, Kurt gave no reply. Defeated, Blaine stood up and stared out of the glass door at his car.

Why would anyone do this? Blaine thought, then rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Of course someone would do it. He probably should have seen it coming, even. Suddenly he remembered the note he had found in the passenger seat. He pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket and read it over and over to himself, feeling worse each time he repeated it. They were either talking to himself or Kurt, he knew that, but which one? Glancing over at Kurt, he noticed that he was whimpering slightly, probably crying again. He looked back to the note and bit his lip.

"Kurt?" He said quietly, walking slowly up to his boyfriend. The taller boy didn't move, but continued to whimper lightly. He tried again, "Kurt? Kurt, please look at me," he squatted down beside him, trying to catch his eye. After a long, silent moment, Kurt looked up, his eyes bright and puffy and his nose running.

"What?" he sputtered, wiping his nose on his sleeve and blinking heavily. Blaine looked at the note one last time, then held it up to Kurt so he could read it. Blaine took a deep breath, then peeked over the paper to stare at the beautiful man he was lucky enough to call his boyfriend. He knew what he had to ask, but he was afraid of the answer.

"Who did this?" Kurt was silent for a long while, just staring impassively at the words before him. He didn't move, didn't blink, didn't say a word, just sat there. Blaine was very patient, not moving or saying anything as well. He just watched. After a while, Kurt's expression morphed. He gulped hard, then slowly made eye contact, shaking his head slightly.

"Kurt?" Blaine prompted, getting a stern look in his eyes. He knew Kurt knew who did it.

"Hmm?" He replied dumbly, his fingers quivering.

"Kurt, who did this?" His voice was terse and probably harsher than need be, but he wanted an answer. He wanted his suspicions confirmed. Kurt knew exactly who the culprit was. There was another short pause, then Kurt swallowed hard and took a deep breath, staring at the terrible note.

"Karofsky."

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><p><strong>Note: <strong>Oh, and sorry this chapter is so short. I think it is the shortest yet... :/


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"He hasn't done a single bad thing to anyone! Nicest damn kid I've ever met, that's for sure. Why him? What the hell has he done? Tell me what he's done, God dammit!" Burt had to pull over for a moment. He took his car to the side of the road and rubbed his eyes, which were tearing up badly. The moment he had hung up with Blaine he had torn out of the house, catapulting into his car and driving off as fast as was legally allowed. As he rested his forehead on the cold, hard steering wheel, he just couldn't believe it. What had his son done to deserve all of this? Really, what had he done?

He ran fingers over his face, trying to calm himself down. He was becoming hysterical, he knew. And the last thing he needed right now was to have a heart attack. Taking a deep breath, Burt pulled back onto the road and kept driving, focusing all his energy on the road. When he wanted to think about why Kurt had all of these terrible things happening to him, he read street signs extra carefully. When he wanted to think about how good Blaine was for his son, he focused on being precisely on the speed limit. And when he wanted to cry, well… He couldn't stop the tears.

He just didn't want to think that his little boy was being bullied so much. It had happened before, but it was supposed to be done with. It was all supposed to end when he came back. He didn't want to think about his little boy like that. All he could see was his son, a little five-year-old, beautiful, angelic kid, prancing around the house singing in that wonderful voice of his. Who would do that to him? Who would hurt his little boy? And why?

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><p>"Blaine, please calm down," Kurt was following his boyfriend around in circles, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder now and again. But every time his fingers touched the cool fabric of his blue blazer, it sent the Warbler off on another tangent. The curly-haired boy scrunched up his face and erupted, clenching his fists tightly.<p>

"Why would I calm down, Kurt? Why?" He turned back and forth quickly, indecisive on which way to pace next. He settled on just standing in one spot, but bounced in place madly. "He drives you out of this school once, fine. We've come to terms with that. But when you come back, he has the _audacity _to try and do it again! And right after he made a promise to keep you safe." Blaine ran a hand through his hair, messing up the perfectly gelled curls. Kurt would have thought he was cute on any other day, but now, as the Warbler stomped off towards the wall, he had to admit it was kind of scary. He had never seen Blaine like this.

"Blaine, just sit down for a minute. Please," Kurt begged, standing off to one side of the other boy. He didn't dare touch him again. Who knew what would happen.

"I don't want to sit, Kurt! I'm furious! How dare he? What gives him the right? He knows damn well that this is wrong. But does he care? No! Of course not!" He growled. Like, actually _growled_. Kurt had heard of people doing such a thing, but he had never actually witnessed it. It was like his dapper, adorable warbler was morphing into a vicious, sadistic hawk right before his eyes.

"Blaine…" he whispered, worried. He was starting to breath heavily now, and he looked like he was about to punch a wall in. Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if he actually did.

"He's is _not_ going to get away with this. I swear on my life, even if I have to take care of it personally, he will not get away with this. If he thinks he can just waltz back in and ruin your life, he is sadly mistaken. You're cared about too much for this, Kurt. You don't deserve it." Blaine seemed to be calming down. He was still ranting, but at least he didn't look violent anymore. But Kurt could still see some sort of electricity in his eyes. Something was burning in there. He didn't know what it was, but he had a bad feeling about it.

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><p>A small, six-year-old kid with a huge gap in his mouth where his front teeth should be, grinning up at his dad, holding a magazine. It was opened to a picture of a model, her body clad in a huge, fabulous dress, her arms and neck adorned with glamorous jewelry of every kind. And her heels were almost as long as her legs. The young boy, pointed to the girl and squealed, "Look how pretty she is! Look, daddy!"<p>

"I'm looking, bud," he said, kneeling down beside his boy. The kid looked at the picture himself, and his eyes were gleaming. What was going through that kid's head, he had no idea. But what he said next was quite a shocker.

"I want to grow up and make a dress like that one," he pointed a tiny finger at the huge dress draped over the model. It was big and beautiful, and had every color of the rainbow sewn in somewhere. He looked down at his son, then back at the dress. He was confused, but proud.

"You're not going to make a dress like that, son," he said quietly, and his little boy looked up at him, obviously hurt. His eyes grew wide and he gripped the magazine tighter.

"Why not?" he pouted, his bottom lip jutting out.

"Because," he said, placing a hand on his boy's shoulder, "you'll make one even better." His son had never looked happier.

And apparently he's not allowed to be happy anymore, Burt thought, blinking hard. He just couldn't comprehend who would try to make his son upset. He was nice, smart, kind, funny… And he was his _son. _His beautiful, talented, wonderful son that he saw the best and worst in every day of his life. Whether Kurt was coming home, beaming about a solo he nailed, or running through the door, furious about one he lost. Whatever it was, he knew Kurt was a fantastic kid, and he didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of it.

* * *

><p>"I love you so much, Kurt," Blaine whispered intently between kisses. He and Kurt had been standing in a corner for the past couple of minutes now, murmuring about how they loved each other and how much they loved kissing each other. Even Kurt had to admit it was ridiculous and kind of embarrassingly cute. But that didn't mean he was going to stop…<p>

He wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, pulling him closely so their bodies were pressed up against each other. If he could stay in this position forever, he knew he would. In a heartbeat, he would.

"Shouldn't Burt be here by now?" Blaine muttered from beneath Kurt's lips. The taller boy sighed inwardly, wishing his boyfriend hadn't ruined the moment. However, he had a good point. In fact, Burt should have been there awhile ago. Where was he?

"Yeah, he should have," he said, pulling away from Blaine. He thought he heard the Warbler whimper, but he chose to ignore it. He looked out the glass door, past Blaine's totaled car, but saw nothing. No Burt, no truck, nothing. He furrowed his brow. Something was up.

* * *

><p>Burt wiped tears from his cheeks, starting to feel burning in his eyes. Sniffling and hiccupping, he tried to see clearly through his windshield. But he could hardly see through all of his tears. He would have pulled over, but he wanted to get to his son. He wanted to hold him tightly and tell him things would be alright.<p>

But every time I say that, he thought, things go wrong. Things like this happen. He breathed in raggedly and blinked as hard as he could. When he opened his eyes, the windshield was still blurry, but he could see two, bright lights coming towards him. And they were getting closer.

He swerved to the left slightly, his heart racing as the lights became larger and larger. Finally, he just jerked the wheel to the left completely, his vision going black. He vaguely heard a crash, but he wasn't sure which car it came from.

He blacked out before he could make another thought.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> How'd my cliffhanger work? Also, I promise my next chapter will be longer. In fact, I think it's the longest one yet. R&R, please and thank you. I love you all!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"He'll be alright," the doctor said confidently for the umpteenth time. Kurt still didn't believe a word he said. When he had come into the hospital, the doctor had ushered him in to the room where his father had been, then told him he was very lucky. Kurt hadn't been sure if he was talking about his dad being lucky, or if the doctor had thought it would be funny to call his own life lucky. If the latter, he thought the doctor had a sick sense of humor. Yeah, being bullied at school, called a fag every day, having your boyfriend be threatened, having your boyfriend's car bashed, and having your dad be in a car crash that put him in the hospital was _so_ lucky.

"I'll leave you two," the doctor said, and Kurt held back a snippy rely about how it was about time he left. He glared as the gray-haired man left, still looking smug. He sighed and looked back to his dad.

Burt was lying in the bed peacefully, his head turned to the side to show a small line of stitches by his ear. Really, besides a few stitches and a broken arm, Burt wasn't too badly injured. The police said the person in the other car, a drunk, was even better off. Kurt thought it kind of horrid that some drunk man who had caused his father this, was just perfectly fine. Oh, the irony, he thought, shaking his head.

There was a small knock at the door, and Kurt turned in time to see Blaine enter with a young nurse. Her eyes were huge, and her blond hair cascaded down her shoulders. Kurt already hated her.

"Am I interrupting?" Blaine whispered hesitantly, still standing by the door. At least the nurse was kind enough to stand by him, looking just as hesitant. Kurt shook his head and went back to watching his dad's still figure. This was the second time he was doing this, he thought, frowning. This wasn't right.

Blaine walked ever so slowly up to his boyfriend, simply taking his hand when he got close enough. The nurse pattered around for a minute, then left just as quietly. Perhaps he had been wrong about her, Kurt thought, noting her respectful silence.

"On the phone, before the accident," Blaine began, resting his head on his boyfriend's shoulder, "Burt told me I was like his son. He told me if I needed anything, he'd do it for me." His voice cracked slightly and he had to stop talking for a moment. Kurt wrapped his arms around him, letting him cry silently into his chest. That's two things today that I've never seen Blaine do, Kurt thought. One, get as furious as he had before. And two, cry relentlessly.

"Well, you _are _like his son. He really does like you, Blaine," he comforted, rubbing his back. The smaller boy sniffled and looked over at Burt, still sleeping quietly.

"My dad would never do that," he whispered hoarsely. He fell into another fit of tears, because he knew it was true. Burt was the closest thing he had to a father. His own was terrible to him. He didn't even approve of him, let alone feel like he'd do anything for his son. Burt was the one who had driven all the way to the school from work to tow his car. Burt had been the one he called for help. Burt was the one lying in the hospital bed. Not his father. And as he cried over Burt, he wondered if he would actually do the same for his own father. Unfortunately, he didn't think so.

"I'm sorry, I should be comforting you, not vice versa," Blaine sniffled, pulling away. He wiped his face ferociously, straightening his mussed up tie and hair. To anyone else, the glossy eyes, snotty nose, and pink, irritated cheeks would have been repulsive, but Kurt just found it endearing that Blaine was comfortable enough with him to let go of his elegant outer shell.

"No," Kurt murmured, pulling Blaine back into a hug. He squeezed the Warbler tightly, and smiled as the smaller boy gave in and leaned into him, starting to cry softly again. "It's nice to be able to comfort someone else for once."

* * *

><p>Burt was sleeping, Blaine was sleeping, Carol was sleeping, Finn was sleeping… Kurt, on the other hand, had never been more awake in his life. He sat in the corner of the hospital room on a metal chair. The chair was so uncomfortable, but he didn't care. He didn't want to fall asleep. If he fell asleep, he dreamed. If he dreamed, it would be a nightmare. And he hated nightmares.<p>

Whenever he dreamt, he always relived some old, terrible memory. Whether it be sometime he got bullied, sometime he was small and scared, or some horrible, awful time when he didn't have his dad there with him. Whatever it was, he didn't want it again.

Kurt looked over at everyone's sleeping figure for the thousandth time, jumping at every little sound or movement. He just couldn't help being scared. He felt like he was six again, when even a shadow scared the living daylights out of him. There was something about his dad being in the hospital for the second time that made his stomach quiver uneasily.

Kurt grabbed the bottom of the chair tightly, squeezing the cool, hard metal. His fingernails clicked loudly, sending his heart into a fit of jumps. He breathed heavily, looking around wide-eyed and not moving. He didn't want anyone to wake up and see him like this. He didn't want them to pity the poor, scared boy.

That's all I am, he thought, squinting his eyes shut. I'm just a poor boy who's way to old to be this scared. I shouldn't be sitting in here, unable to sleep because I'm afraid of dreams. And I sure as hell shouldn't be afraid of the dark!

Right as he thought about it, a shadow wavered and Kurt squeaked, pulling his legs up to his chest and nearly falling off the chair. He shook silently for a moment, then gulped and pulled himself into a tight ball, hiding his face in his knees out of shame. How could he help his dad if he couldn't even stand to be in the dark?

Kurt looked around again and gulped, realizing why he was scared. He was alone. Not physically alone, but mentally. Sure, Blaine knew that Karosfky was bullying him again, and Burt and Carol probably did too. But they weren't there when things happened. They didn't have to see the things he did. Kurt _always_ saw them. And when it was dark, that's all he could see. The mean glint in their eyes, the hidden resentment in passing student's faces, the pitying glance from others… He saw everything when it was dark.

A movement out of the corner of his eye made Kurt jump again, and his heart raced. He quickly looked over to make sure everyone was sleeping. Carol, Burt, Finn…

Where was Blaine? _Where was Blaine_?

"Kurt?" Kurt nearly jumped out of his skin, but he settled for turning to face whoever called his name, mouth open wide, ready to scream. Before he had a chance to scream in a high-pitched, terrified voice, a hand clamped over his mouth, restricting any noise from escaping. Panicking, the boy flailed his arms wildly at his attacker, all the while biting down hard on the hand. The quiet screech that came from the attacker made Kurt stop and stare. He squinted, trying to find out if he had heard right.

"Kurt, _shhh_! You're going to wake up Carol and Finn!" Blaine whispered intensely, stepping back from his boyfriend. Right as the words came out of his mouth, the two boys heard a small stirring from the other side of the room.

"Mhhmmm… Kurt? Whassat?"

"Finn, go back to bed," Kurt whispered soothingly, trying not to laugh at his brother. Finn smacked his lips tiredly, his eyes slowly falling shut all the while. After a moment, his head clunked back down to where it had been resting before. Kurt looked back up over at Blaine, finally seeing the slight outline of his boyfriend.

"Want to go for a walk?" Blaine whispered, holding out a hand. The outline was blurry, but Kurt placed his own hand in his boyfriend's, glad to not be the only person asleep anymore.

"Sure," he replied.

* * *

><p>Their walk quickly turned into a sit. Kurt claimed it was because it was too cold outside, but really he was just afraid of the dark. Being inside a room while it was dark was one thing, but outside, there were no walls. There were no corners to hide in, no doors to slam, and no witnesses. They were sitting as close as they possibly could in the waiting room, fingers intertwined as Kurt rested his head on the other boy's shoulder. They didn't say very much, and Kurt was grateful. Blaine seemed to understand that he didn't want to talk about it yet.<p>

Everything was silent for a while, excluding the ringing phones, screeches of wheelchairs, and nurses' heels clicking all over the tile floor. As Kurt stared all around, he vaguely wondered how everything stayed so sterile. Even after people came in with blood pouring out of their wounds, vomit coming from their mouths, and any other disgusting liquids escaping from various holes and crevices, the hospital was always clean. The floors, the walls, even the beds. There was never a stain in sight.

After a moment, Kurt wanted to laugh at himself. Out of everything he could be wondering about, he was obsessed with how everything was so immaculate. However, it was better than thinking about where his dad was right then.

A small, pitiful whimper shook Kurt from his stupor. He looked up, thinking it was Blaine. It wasn't his boyfriend who made the sound, but he _was_ slightly stunned to see that the Warbler had fallen asleep. His head was lolled back and his mouth was barely opened, his jaw hanging off to one side. His chest rose and fell slowly and steadily, and Kurt would have fallen asleep, too, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall, if another whimper didn't catch his ear.

He turned his head slowly, searching for whoever had uttered the noise. His eyes skimmed past a large, black receptionist yelling into a phone with a loud, deep voice, the doctor that he had earlier hated(he still looked too confident), and a pregnant woman flipping through a parenting magazine. None of them seemed like they had made the noise. Again, the small whimper echoed around the room, and he finally heard where it had come from. Turning his head, he saw, in the corner, who had been whimpering.

An old woman, looking to be in her seventies, at least, had a handkerchief pressed to her nose and she softly cried. Her thin white hair was slightly disheveled, and her makeup was less than appealing. She looked extremely frail. Her thin arms were shaking, and it looked like she could barely hold the kerchief to her face. Kurt longed to go and hold it for her, or at least help her in some sort of way. After a moment of having to listening to her sad, pitiful crying, he stood and walked up to her.

She didn't seem to notice him at first, and Kurt thought that maybe she was blind. Should I stomp my foot? he thought, looking around for help. But no one was paying him any attention. Should I tap her shoulder? Walk away? He was about to leave when the fragile old lady started to pat the seat beside her. She said nothing, but Kurt knew she meant him. He sat.

A few awkward, silent moments passed, and Kurt seriously started to regret walking over to this woman. But, instead of walking away, he just watched her as her eyes grew wet. She'd dab them with the already-soaked kerchief, then sniffle and wait for them to grow wet again. She took a deep breath, then another, and another… After ten deep, shallow breaths, Kurt almost thought she was having a heart attack. But, he thought, what better place to have a heart attack than at a hospital?

Terrible joke, he thought grimly.

"My son is in there," Kurt snapped to attention, watching the old woman. She had spoken to him, right? Her voice was so thin and delicate, he could have reached out and shattered it with his fingers. She lifted a tiny finger and pointed it down a hallway. Kurt followed the shaky limb, staring for a moment before turning back to the woman. When she didn't let her arm fall back down, he reached over and placed a hand around hers, guiding it back to her lap. She intertwined her fingers in his own, then placed her free hand over theirs, patting it lightly.

"What happened?" Kurt whispered quietly, and when she didn't respond, he repeated himself, louder this time. She really was old, wasn't she?

The woman didn't reply for a few moments, but just took more deep breaths. She wiped her eyes with the soaked handkerchief again, and Kurt couldn't stand it. He carefully unwrapped the sheer scarf from his neck with his free hand and took the wet kerchief from her.

"Here," he murmured, handing over the small scarf. She smiled and sniffled gratefully, taking the cloth and dabbing her eyes dry. After thanking him, she rolled the scarf up in her hands, wrinkling the fabric. He would have cringed on a regular day, but a crumpled scarf was really the least of his problems.

"He's very sick, my son," she began, her voice becoming incredibly softer. He could tell already that she loved him dearly. Her dull blue eyes grew vacant and glazed over as she stared off at a spot on the wall. Her eyes started to glisten with tears again, but she didn't dab them with his scarf. "He was fine just a little while ago. A perfectly healthy young man. But now, he's just… so, so sick." She had begun to quiver gently, and Kurt was seriously worried. He wrapped an arm around her small shoulders, letting her lean into him.

"I love him so much," her voice was a hoarse whisper, and she sounded like a ghost. "It's not right. It's not right…" she murmured repeatedly, staring off into the distance. Her shallow features grew grim and she looked guilty.

"What's not right?" Kurt asked, worried.

"I should be in there. He's my _son_. This is wrong." The old woman buried her face in the scarf, and Kurt let her cry in peace. He looked at his legs, thinking hard. It was strange that her son was in their and not she. Nobody ever thought about their child dying before them. It really wasn't natural.

He thought about his dad. What would Burt be like if his son was the one in the room, knocked out by medicine and healing from a deadly crash? He would be like this woman. He would be devastated. It just wasn't right to look down at your child as they lay in a hospital bed. It should be the other way around.

As much as he hated it, this woman was right. It was better that he was looking down at his dad tonight.

* * *

><p><strong>Note: <strong>Since I won't be updating tomorrow:

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Yes, I am fifteen, but you are never too old for free candy and dress-up. I'm going as Charlie Chaplin. Who are you going as?

Oh, and what'd you think of the chapter? Haha Almost forgot to ask... Too much Halloween thoughts...


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Mercedes had never really paid much attention to it, but school was pretty boring without Kurt. There was no one to get into a deep, heated conversation about clothes with. No one to pour her heart out to. No one to come strolling down the hallway, bursting with energy and eager to please. She missed his dramatic voice, his subtle eye rolls that he thought she never saw, the theatrical entrances, everything. Now the most dramatic person in school was Rachel, and she was just nauseatingly pretentious and over-the-top. She wasn't Kurt.

This was the second time this week that her best friend was gone, and she was seriously starting to doubt that school was actually interesting at all. As she was walking down the hall, everything seemed dull and boring, nothing like it was on normal days. And everyone was so loud. Did she talk this loud when she was with Kurt? She hoped not…

"And then he threw out the lemon juice and they made out." Mercedes turned and peered at Brittney, who had developed a new habit of following her around in the hallways and talking about very strange things. The blond flipped her hair casually and smacked her gum, much to Mercedes' annoyance.

"That's fascinating, Brit," she muttered, rolling her eyes. Right after she did it, she hoped that the blond hadn't seen her. Ever since Kurt had started missing school, she had begun to see the obnoxious things everywhere. Like, seriously, _every_where. No matter where she went, there was always something there that she had an urge to destroy. Whether it be a ticking clock, a fly, or a certain blond that wouldn't shut up.

"What's going on?" Brittney questioned, and Mercedes rolled her eyes before she even realized that it was a legitimate question. She looked to where the girl was pointing, and raised an eyebrow. A group of guys were crowded around Kurt's locker, laughing and yelling hysterically.

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out," she huffed impatiently and stomped over to the group as Brittney pranced away, singing something unintelligible. Her stomach dropped when she saw that one of the guys was holding a bucket the size of his torso, which was more of a barrel. But, the bucket didn't trouble her as much as the face hiding behind it. Peering around at her was Karofsky. Mercedes thought she might actually explode right then and there.

"What d'you want, lady?" a short, twig-of-a-guy said, placing his hands on his hips. Mercedes didn't even bother giving him a second glance before she shoved him aside and started to shake her finger in the direction of the larger boys of the group, including Karosfky, who was now huffing with the effort of holding up the bucket. By the look of his red, scrunched facial features, it wasn't filled with feathers.

"Now you all listen here," she started, using her best 'bitch, you best be listening' face, "I don't know what the hell you're planning, but it better stop now. If you so much as _think_ about messing with a single hair on my boy's head, I will twist your body parts around so you'll be looking like a pretzel for weeks. And if you actually _do_ mess with my Kurt," she leaned forward for emphasis, enjoying the small gleam of fear she saw in some of their eyes, "you'll be watching your backs day and night, 'cause I will-"

Mercedes' rant was cut short by a wall of icy hell. She gasped and jumped back, away from the offending direction. After she regained her composure and opened her eyes, she wiped a dark, freezing substance from her face. From the smell, she already knew what it was. The fruity, overpowering stench would be wafting on her for days. But, still, she had to ask.

"What," she took a deep breath, trying to still her quivering voice, "was that?" She must have looked like the devil himself had come to wreck havoc on everyone in his path, because no one answered at first, but just stared, dumbfounded, at her. In turn, she made eye contact with each student, stopping at Karofsky, who was setting down the now-empty barrel he had been struggling to hold up. Again, she asked, "What was that?" She expected the jock to gulp and look at her in fear, muttering and sputtering the answer lamely. She was caught by surprise when he grinned and kicked over the barrel. She watched it roll to her feet before she looked back at him in shock.

"Screw slushy facials! That was a fucking slushy shower, bitch," Karofsky whooped and high-fived a couple of his friends as they ran off, leaving Mercedes to shiver underneath the chilly, fruity madness.

As Mercedes walked off to the bathroom in shame, she couldn't help but think of what Kurt would have done in that situation, since, of course, it had been meant for him. She wiped purple slush from her cheeks with toilet paper, and after a few swiped, she realized it was futile. In the mirror, she looked like a colorful hippo, she decided, almost laughing at herself. Kurt wouldn't have been ok with this, she thought, frowning. Well, I guess it was better me than him then.

"He totally owes me one, though," she added, grinning to herself.

* * *

><p>Glee rehearsal was unusually quiet. The students had been informed of what had happened to Kurt's dad, and each of them were too scared to speak, in fear that they were to say something stupid or hurtful. Even Rachel seemed speechless as she sat in her chair, cross-legged and biting her lip. For once, the students kind of wanted her to stand up and give directions. They were lost.<p>

"Um…" Mr. Schue began, standing up and clasping his hands together nervously. After a long, awkward pause, he sat back down in his chair and sighed, unsure of what to say. He couldn't give them words of comfort, because he really had no idea what was going to happen. And what should he say about Kurt? Who knew? He sure didn't.

"May I speak?" Rachel raised her hand timidly, and every student perked up, hoping for something, anything, that would lift the depressing shroud from each of their shoulders. When Mr. Schue nodded, she stood and walked slowly to the center of the room, her heels tapping and echoing around the silent room painfully loud. The clicking stopped, and she swiveled around to stare at the Glee clubbers, her skirt swishing with her movements. Rachel looked tentative as she stared at the tile floor, wringing her fingers and taking shallow breaths. After a moment, she looked up and cleared her throat, speaking at last.

"I think," her voice cracked through the silence, shattering all of the peaceful quiet. She stopped short, taking another breath and starting up again, quieter this time. "I think we should prepare a number to sing to Kurt and his dad, to show that we care," her voice was scarcely a whisper, but everyone heard. Everyone was still for a moment, contemplating. Finn was the first one to start nodding, then a chorus of agreements followed. There was, yet, one head that was shaking their head no. She stood, looking angry.

"I think the last thing Kurt wants is to hear your voice right now," Mercedes bellowed, crossing her arms. The room was silent again, and someone probably could have used a knife to cut through the tension that was building up. Rachel gawked at Mercedes, unsure if she had heard her right. She was just trying to be considerate.

"Wh... What?" she stuttered, and from behind her, Mr. Schue was standing up and getting ready to step in. He walked up and placed a hand on Rachel's shoulder.

"Mercedes," he said calmly, noticing the fire in her eyes. "I know that Kurt's your friend, and this must be tough on you, but-"

"I'm just thinking of what's best for him," Mercedes butt in, stepping forward and coming dangerously close to Rachel. Mr. Schue was actually scared that she may hit her. "I know Kurt, and I _know_ that hearing that bitch's nasally voice isn't going to make anything better." From beside him, he could feel Rachel tense up as the venomous words were spat in her face, and she seemed to shrink back visibly.

"Mercedes!" Mr. Schue glared at her, and the diva seemed to get the message that she had overstepped the line. Again, the room grew silent, and feet shifted uncomfortably. Both Mercedes and Rachel sat in their seats silently, looking at the floor all the while. No one looked up as Mr. Schue started to speak.

"I know this seems hard on you, but think of how this feels on Kurt. You're all selfish if you think this hurts you the most. He's in a hospital right now with his dad, and none of us know how he's doing. Have any of you gone to visit him?" Everyone flinched at the accusation in his voice, feeling absolutely terrible. "I didn't think so." He stopped for a moment, running a hand over his face and sighing loudly. "Look, we can sit in here, shameful and bickering, getting absolutely nothing done. We can do that if you want. We can waste time yelling at each other and blaming one another for things they didn't do. Or, we can actually try to help Kurt and his dad." He stopped again, watching as the guilt almost visibly oozed from each of his students. "Your choice."

* * *

><p><strong>Note: <strong>What did you guys think of this chapter? I wasn't so sure about it, but I wanted to show what the Glee club was up to without Kurt. I know it seems like they're falling apart without him, but I wanted to show how important he was to them, and that when he hurts, they hurt. Was it written alright? Please review and let me know what you thought. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes:** So, um... It's been a while, hasn't it? We finally got a new computer, then for about a month we didn't have any sort of word processor. We just recently got one, but none of my previous work could be recovered, so I had to start this chapter over. I'm sorry for the huge delay, and I naively hope I didn't lose too many of my readers. Please enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

"Seventy-two bottles of caffeine-free soda on the wall, seventy-two bottles of caffeine-free soda." Kurt thought his head might actually explode. For the past ten minutes, although it felt like ten hours, he had been forced to listen to the retched song as Carol drove Burt, Finn, Blaine, and himself home from the hospital. Once they had gotten past ninety, Kurt thought they may stop, bored. As they slowly made their way down some more numbers, he realized they were going all the way.

"Take one down, pass it around," they paused dramatically, looking to one another excitedly, "seventy-one bottles of caffeine-free soda on the wall." There was another pause, and Kurt lifted his head from the seat, looking around at the still singers as they were silent. A wave of relief washed over him, and he smiled and let his shoulders slump forward a little.

"Seventy-one bottles of caffeine-free soda on the wall," Blaine sang quietly, trying to get the song up again. And, much to Kurt's horror, everyone in the car burst back into the old rhythm, impossibly louder and more obnoxious than before.

"SEVENTY-ONE BOTTLES OF CAFFIENE-FREE SODAAAAAA!"

Kurt banged his head on the window, whimpering slightly. How could they be so enthusiastic? And right after Burt got out of the hospital. His dad was supposed to be resting so that he could heal faster. The man had just been in a car accident, a _near death_ experience, and now he was singing merrily to a tune that was seriously grating on Kurt's last nerve. What was wrong with these people?

"Seventy bottles of caffeine-free soda on the wall," they sang, even happier now. They had reached a milestone, apparently. Every ten bottles they took down, they went an octave higher, although eventually they'd go back to the last octave, throats straining too much from the effort. The overly-enthusiastic voices rang in Kurt's ears, sending shivers down his spine. Why were they so cheerful? Why did they have to be _happy_? Kurt felt his hands tighten around his thighs as he was forced to listen to the repetitive song. Over and over, the same tune, scraping away at the little sanity he had left. "Seventy bottles of caffeine-free soda," they held out the note too long, and that was it; Kurt cracked.

"And I take _all_ seventy of the bottles of _pop_ down and break them over _all_ of your heads, thus _ending_ this _song_!" Silence fell over the car, the only noise being the soft rumble of the engine and the harsh breaths coming from Kurt.

After a moment, Finn said, "Well _some_body's a little cranky." Everyone in the car chuckled slightly, and Kurt thought that Finn was pretty lucky. If Blaine wasn't between the two of them, he would have had to cause some damage.

"Yeah, Kurt, we're just having some fun," Blaine added, nudging him with his elbow. The Warbler smiled invitingly, only enraging Kurt more.

"Well you shouldn't be having _fun_. This isn't exactly a _fun_ time, now is it?" He snapped, crossing his arms.

"'Cheer up, Kurt. You know what they say'," Blaine quoted in a British accent, grinning. "'Some things in life are bad. They can make you really mad. Other things just make you swear and curse.'" Finn joined in, slowly morphing the lyrics into a song.

"'When you're chewing on life's gristle, don't grumble, give a whistle. And this'll help things turn out for the best.'" They sang together:

"'And, always look on the bright side of life," before they had time to start whistling, Kurt groaned loudly, almost screaming in frustration.

"Shut up, shut up, shut_ up_!" He glared at the two boys, who looked down guiltily.

"Kurt," Burt turned in his seat, looking at his son sternly. Kurt couldn't look him in the eye. "We're going to have a talk when we get home." He turned back in his seat, staring out the windshield quietly. The rest of the car ride was silent.

* * *

><p>Burt knocked on Kurt's door with his good arm, preparing himself for an oncoming storm. He wasn't quite sure what had Kurt's hair so ruffled, but he figured it had something to do with himself. Carol had offered to talk to him, but Burt wanted to do this alone. Sure, emotional stuff wasn't <em>exactly<em> his forte, but he knew his son pretty well, and he knew how to take care of a breakdown. And Kurt seemed to be having a lot of those lately.

A robotic response came from the other side of the door, sounding like something along the lines of, "Come in." Burt did so, closing the door behind him quietly. But what he saw wasn't exactly what he had prepared himself for.

Kurt was lying on his back on the bed, completely motionless, with his arms by his sides and his legs straight out, and he almost looked like he was preparing to get mummified. His face was expressionless, jaw slack and lips parted slightly. But as Burt came closer to the bed, it was Kurt's eyes that horrified him. The usually expressive, bright gray-green-blue eyes were completely and utterly dead. They showed absolutely no emotion, and even when they flickered over to Burt, there was no recognition or sign that he had seen him. They just stared blankly back up at the ceiling.

Burt sat down by his son's feet, watching him for a moment to see if there'd be any response. When there was none, he finally broke the silence. "What's wrong?" he asked, figuring that was probably the most obviously helpful question. That is, if he'd answer truthfully. Or answer at all.

"Nothing," Kurt replied, although it didn't sound the Kurt at all. The voice was grainy and distant and hollow, like Burt was staring into a dark cave. Again, Burt waited a bit, watching for any sign of change. Anything at all. The twitch of a finger, a deep inhale of breath, an eye roll, _anything_. But there was nothing. The kid was hardly even _blinking_. His eyes would just glaze over.

"How do you feel?" Burt tried again.

"Fine." It was like talking to a robot. Vague, one-word answers. And lies, at that, he thought, knowing that this still figure was not his son. Kurt would never face his problems like this. He'd at least give some sort of response.

"Kurt, I can't help you unless you give me something to work with," he said, smiling exasperatedly. Again, nothing in reply. "Please," he set a hand on an unmoving leg, "tell me what's wrong."

For a moment, just one, small moment, Kurt averted his dead gaze from the ceiling to his dad. Burt looked into the glassy eyes hopefully, searching for some glimmer of Kurt hiding behind the numb shell. His son parted his lips farther, and Burt leaned forward, urging an explanation out.

Just as soon as Kurt had looked away, he looked back up to the ceiling. "Nothing," the cold voice answered, killing any faith Burt had left.

"Well, then, if you're sure nothing's wrong, I guess I'll get out of your hair," he stood, starting to back out of the room extremely slowly, just in case his son had anything to say last minute. "You are absolutely positive nothing is wrong?"

"Yeah," Kurt said, not moving a muscle. His vacant eyes didn't even watch Burt as he exited.

"Alright," Burt was at the door, his fingers lingering over the knob hesitantly. "Then I guess I'll be on my way," his voice was almost as slow as his hand as he sluggishly grabbed the doorknob and turned it.

"'Kay," was all he got in response. Not even an '_o_kay'. Something was wrong with Kurt. He wasn't sure what it was, but he was sure it was going to be difficult to find out.

* * *

><p>"He wasn't even <em>moving<em>, Carol. He just sat there, like a rock. Just stared up at the ceiling. I don't know what's wrong with him." Burt was rubbing his head roughly. If he had any hair, he probably would have pulled it all out by now. Carol had to pull his hand away from his head before he caused any sort of damage to himself.

"When he's ready, he'll tell us what's wrong. You know how teenagers are; they'll keep things to themselves until they just can't take it anymore, then they'll vent."

"But that's not how Kurt does it," Burt snapped back. He was slightly unnerved that she had brushed it off as something teenagers 'just did'. "He tells me things all the time. He comes to me with problems. He's never held something back before, let alone like _that_." He gestured to Kurt's room, a picture of his son lying motionless, completely empty, flashing through his mind.

"When he's ready, he'll tell us," Carol repeated, wrapping an arm around his shoulder comfortingly.

"I don't know if he'll ever _be_ ready. That's the problem," he sighed, trying to clear his mind. He didn't want to think about what would happen if Kurt was never ready to tell him.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Ten points to whomever can guess what the whole "some things in life are bad, they can really make you mad" scene is from!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes:** Congratulations to all who got that the quotes were from Monty Python(Although I am sorry to say that the ten points are worth nothing...). And thank you to everyone who left a review, favorited, and alerted this story.

Some warnings for this chapter. There may be triggers, so beware. I really don't believe that this story is or is going to be anywhere near rated M, but if you think otherwise, please let me know and I'll consider changing if enough people think so. Please, please, _please _let me know what you think of this chapter, because it's sort of branching out and taking a different turn. I want to know if my readers like where it's going or not. Thank you!

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><p><strong>Chapter 11 <strong>

Kurt just wanted to be alone. Whenever he was alone, nothing bad happened to anyone. Slushies weren't thrown, cars weren't totaled, wrecks never happened, and no one got hurt. Specifically, himself.

He was just tired of being hurt by others. Why'd it always have to be _him_? Everything bad always happened to _him_ or _his_ loved ones. He was like a bad omen. You'd think people would just gravitate away from him, but no, of course not. He'd start to love them, then they'd get hurt. Every. Single. Time.

Kurt got up from his bed and stumbled clumsily to the bathroom, his legs wobbly and his eyesight a poor from not moving and not blinking for a while. But he had to be emotionless and quiet; it was the only way he could keep himself from having another outburst. He wanted so badly to yell at his dad before. He wanted to scream that no, it was not okay. No, he was not fine. And no, he didn't want his dad to leave. He wanted Burt to stay in his room and listen to him yell and scream and throw a fit like a two-year-old because nothing was okay and Kurt wanted the world to know. He wanted everyone to know that he, Kurt Hummel, was a sad, tormented teenager and he couldn't take any more of it.

By now, Kurt was crying silently on the bathroom floor. He was silent because he didn't want anyone to see him like this. Another flood of tears spilled out as he fought the two-sided confrontation in his head. Did he want everyone to know he was tired of being hurt? Did he not? He had no clue.

Kurt just wanted to be in control of some aspect of his life. He was fed up with everyone else deciding when and where to hurt him and make him upset. Why did everybody else get to make those decisions? They seemed pretty important, so why couldn't he choose?

With salty tears burning his cheeks, Kurt quietly pushed himself up to his knees, forcing his eyes to open. Everything was blurred and his eyes scorched as he looked around.

He was tired of being hurt by others. He'd had enough of it. Up until this point, he had let others push him around and chase him away. He let them injure people he loved, taunt them, and cause them to hate their lives. He was done with it.

A pearl white blur popped up in Kurt's vision, and he strained to see it clearly. Crawling towards it, the object grew larger and clearer until he was looking down into the disgusting face of his toilet. A few of his tears dripped down into the water, and they splashed, causing a ripple effect. The ripples hypnotized him in a way, calling him.

I just want to be in control of some aspect of my life, Kurt thought. Slowly, he placed his shaky hands on the rim of the toilet. The cool surface sent a chill to his bone, and he could hear the eerie sound of his heart beating heavily in his ears. I want this, he thought, closing his eyes. When he opened them back up, they were fixed in the center of the bowl with a steely gaze. I want this _control_.

Kurt raised two of his slender fingers and quickly inserted them into his mouth, trying to act fast before he could think better and more clearly. Without a second thought, he shoved his fingers down his throat and took charge for once in his life.

* * *

><p>From the moment Mercedes saw Kurt, she knew something was wrong. Very wrong.<p>

Her first thought was that maybe his house burnt down and he was homeless, because her boy sure as hell would _never_ come to school dressed in a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked like they came from the Boring selection at last month's fashion show. But from the expression on his face (or, more likely, the lack thereof) she could tell that this was nothing to joke about.

"Hey," she greeted, falling in step beside him. The boy looked like a robot, walking down the hall and not looking at anything. He just stared straight ahead, his shoulders slightly hunched and his feet dragging sluggishly along. She thought she heard him grunt in response, but she couldn't be sure. "I said hey," she nudged him gently on the side. Kurt, seeming to just realize she was there, blinked and looked over to her.

"Hi," he replied, and even his voice sounded off.

"After school the glee club has something to show you," Mercedes exclaimed happily. She could barely suppress her grin, and after a moment, she went ahead and smiled anyway. A smile wouldn't give anything away, would it?

After Mr. Schuester had told the kids off for being selfish, they had prepared a number to show to Kurt once he got back. They couldn't show it to Burt, but they were sure the student would go home and blab about it for a while. They were going to perform it after school for him.

"I'm not going to be at glee club today," Kurt murmured, then after a moment, he added, "or ever. I'm quitting." Mercedes stopped in her tracks, and when Kurt kept walking she grabbed his arm, yanking him to a halt. He glared back at her with a fury she had never seen in his eyes. But as soon as the fury appeared, it disappeared, and he was once again an emotionless robotic boy.

"What do you mean you're quitting? You can't just quit on us Kurt."

"I can, and I will," he said. His dull voice was starting the annoy Mercedes. How could he just stand there and drop a bomb on her like this and not have some sort of emotion to go along with it?

"You can't, and you won't, Kurt," she said, starting to worry a little. What was wrong with him? He would never do this sort of thing to his friends in glee.

"Yes, I will," there was a slight edge to Kurt's voice as he defied her.

"I won't let you," Mercedes crossed her arms, trying not to look scared. How was she supposed to handle Kurt in this situation? To be honest, she was scared to death. Her best friend was acting completely whack.

"Okay, and what are you going to do about it?" Mercedes stumbled over her words, trying to find the right thing to say.

"I'll… er… I'll, uh," Kurt turned and started to walk off, his shoulders still slumped forward and his feet still dragging behind him. "I will pick you up and carry you there myself!" she shouted, but Kurt was already disappearing around the corner.

* * *

><p>As Kurt walked away from his best friend, he felt completely hollow inside. And not just because he had emptied his stomach of all contents earlier that morning. He didn't want to quit glee. In fact, he wasn't even going to until he blurted out the words. But he just couldn't go back. He had to force himself to fall out of love with each person he knew. That included Mercedes and Blaine and his family and each member of glee club. Everyone he loved got hurt, so he just had to not love anyone. Then he'd be fine. Everything would be fine.<p>

The first step to falling out of love with people was to stop making contact with them. If he never saw them, he wouldn't love them. And since he had to be around some of the people he loved, he had to go to drastic measures and make _them_ hate _him_. Hence the silence and unemotional exterior. They'd eventually grow to hate the robot who sat in the corner of the room collecting dust.

He didn't _want_ to do this. He didn't _want _to be hated by everyone. But it was the only way to save everyone else from Kurt, the Bad Omen. The tragic warning to all that something bad was coming and that you should get away while you can. It was the only way.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes: **Thank you and MTLupy for your wonderful reviews! They make me happy.

Again, triggers in this chapter. It's a little more graphic, but not too. Tell me what you think please. :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

Kurt pulled his fingers from his throat, trying to think of anything but what he was doing at the moment. But it was hard to think at all with his throat scorching like it was. Every jagged breath he forced into his lungs seared down his throat first, setting it on fire. His mouth tasted like, well, vomit. The rancid taste caused him to gag again, which sent a whole new kind of pain through his throat. And he didn't even pay attention to the scent. Kurt had learned early on that smelling it made everything ten times worse.

After cleaning his fingers and mouth, Kurt looked into the mirror and grimaced. He hadn't really noticed it before, but he was kind of fat. A roll of fat toppled over the sides of his jeans, his arms looked like sausages hanging from his sleeves, his cheeks were far too round, and his stomach was nowhere near defined. He looked at himself for a while, sucking in his stomach and cheeks, tucking in rolls, but after a few minutes he couldn't take it anymore and walked out of his bathroom.

He wondered what had happened at glee when he didn't show up. Mercedes said they had something planned for him, no doubt a song, although he didn't see where that would help him in any way. Now that he had quit the club, he was starting to realize how silly it had been. Why was he dancing and singing on a stage in the first place? Did he think he was really going to end up making a living off of that? Ridiculous…

In fact, Kurt was sure that anyone who decided to do that for any reason was just downright _stupid_. Getting up in front of people to entertain them while flailing about and screaming at them? Yeah, that seemed awesome.

Only when Blaine does it, he thought, then instantly regretted it. Kurt had been trying to forget Blaine all together. He was one of the hardest people to get rid of in his life. He wanted nothing more than to call his boyfriend and meet him somewhere nice for a date, then go home afterwards and watch a Disney movie and cuddle on the couch…

No! He couldn't think like that. Every time he did, he'd just long for Blaine and his comfort, and he knew he couldn't have that. He had to rid himself of everyone, not get closer to them.

As if on cue, Kurt's phone started vibrating in his pocket. When he pulled it out, he saw that he had a text from Blaine:

"Coffee?" Almost every day after school Blaine and Kurt would go get coffee together and talk about the day. More than anything, Kurt wanted to say yes. He wanted to see his Warbler so badly, but he knew he couldn't. After a moment, he replied:

"Can't. Lots of homework." It was a complete lie. Kurt hadn't had homework all week. Mostly because some teachers felt bad for him, knowing that his dad was in a car crash, so they just gave him a 100% and called it a day. Not that Kurt was complaining too much.

"Well I gotta drop by to pick up my car from your dad, so how about we have a study date?" Kurt stared at the text for the longest time, debating. He couldn't say no _again_; Blaine would get suspicious. With a slight smile, Kurt replied that yes, they could have a study date. He still needed at least _one_ person to be close to, right? And he couldn't have said no, so it was the only option he had left.

* * *

><p>Kurt had brushed his teeth five times now, but he still couldn't get the vomit taste to leave. It lingered on his tongue, and he was sure Blaine would be able to taste it if he kissed him. The thought worried him, so he began brushing once more. But it was too late, because Blaine knocked on his door once, then entered.<p>

"Oh, you shouldn't have started brushing your teeth," he said, smiling, "I brought pizza." Indeed, there was a large box in his right hand with a pizza logo on the front. Kurt rinsed his mouth, frowning when he realized the taste was still there.

But his mind went elsewhere quickly when he walked closer to Blaine. The box's scent drifted towards him and he hungrily stepped forward. He hadn't eaten anything all day, not to mention what he had done about an hour before. What was that? Pepperoni? Sausage? Bacon? His mouth watered eagerly as Blaine opened the box and set it down on the floor, plopping down beside it. He picked up a piece, taking a huge bite and groaning about how delicious it was.

"Have a piece," he insisted, and Kurt took a seat beside him, staring nostalgically at the food. He really shouldn't, he knew, but it looked so amazing. He could feel the warmth from where he was sitting, and as Blaine took another bite and the cheese stretched out before him, he couldn't resist. Kurt reached over and picked the largest piece, nearly shoving the entire thing in his mouth. He finished the entire piece, crust and all, before Blaine finished his third bite. The Warbler looked over at him, astonished.

"You must've been really hungry," he said, and Kurt felt a blush rising up his neck to his cheeks. Realizing his boyfriend was embarrassed, Blaine rolled up his own piece and shoved the entire thing into his mouth as best as he could. Sausage rolled down his chin and fell onto his tie and cheese dripped down messily. Kurt stared wide-eyed as Blaine struggled to get the pizza down. "Erm," Blaine said, out of breath, "me too." They both took another piece.

* * *

><p>Blaine laughed enthusiastically as he retold a story of the Warblers to Kurt. Kurt laughed along with him comfortably, trying to ignore the empty pizza box lying beside them. He didn't want his stupid thoughts to ruin this moment.<p>

"Each one of them, _plop_! Onto the floor," he finished with a huge arm gesture to accent how hard they had fallen. They both chuckled until the room was silent. But it wasn't awkward, exactly, just quiet. Blaine sighed then looked over at his boyfriend. "You know, I was so busy getting pizza and getting my car that I forgot why I came over in the first place." Oh no, Kurt thought, what a wonderful way to end a study date. By _studying_.

"Yeah, I guess we could start studying," Kurt said reluctantly, running through his classes in his mind and trying to think of one he could pretend to study for.

"That's not what I meant," Blaine said, pulling Kurt out of his thoughts. Then what did he mean, exactly? "I came over here today, because Mercedes called me and said you quit glee club for no good reason. And she said something seemed a little off with you today." Kurt stared at his boyfriend, wishing he had heard him incorrectly. Here they were, having a wonderful time, and Blaine had to go ruin it with _that_.

"It's nothing, really," Kurt said, waving it off. Maybe if he acted really nonchalant Blaine would brush it off too and they could watch a Disney movie and make the night perfect. What would they watch? Cinderella? No, he had already seen it too many times. Sleeping Beauty? No, that wasn't one of Kurt's favorites. Beauty and the Beast? Yeah, that one seemed pretty good. Besides, we could relate to it, Kurt thought. Blaine could be beauty and I, of course, would be the beast.

"It didn't sound like nothing," Blaine insisted, looking at him with those huge, puppy-dog eyes he had grown to love. How was he supposed to give those up so easily? Who could possibly do that? "Mercedes said you looked like a robot." Smiling forcedly, Kurt did a robot dance.

"I was just practicing my moves, that's all."

"Kurt, you know what I mean. She said you had absolutely no emotion. What's wrong?" The big brown eyes stared at Kurt, and he tried to look away, but he couldn't. He wanted to look away so badly, wanted to avoid The Stare, but it was too hypnotizing. "Kurt, you can tell me anything, you know that, right?" Kurt nodded meekly. "Then what's wrong?"

"_Nothing_, really," he insisted, standing up. He was tired of people asking him that over and over again. He didn't say it the first time, so why would he say it the fifth time?

Blaine stood up too, placing a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder comfortingly. Kurt didn't find it comfortable. "Please, Kurt. I'm here for you."

"I think you should leave," Kurt demanded, turning and facing his eyes intensely. Blaine hadn't come here for him at all. He had come to interrogate him, like everyone else had.

"What's wrong?"

"I said leave," he repeated. Blaine's eyes grew sad, and Kurt resisted the temptation to comfort him. After a moment, Blaine turned and left, leaving behind a broken Kurt, an empty pizza box, and an unwatched Disney movie. The minute Kurt was sure his boyfriend was out of the house, he turned and sprinted towards the bathroom.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes:** Actually... I don't have anything to babble about. Enjoy! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

It had been two and one-half days since Burt's son had been acting strange. Two and one-half days since he had seen his son smile. Two and one-half days since he had listened to Kurt's normal voice. Two and one-half days since his son had sung a song. Kurt always said singing made him feel better, he thought solemnly. Maybe if the kid just sang a show tune or something, he'd get better. Better from what, though?

Burt was pulled out of a sad reverie by the doorbell. He unlocked and opened the door, surprised to see Will Schuester on the other side. The curly-haired teacher smiled and nodded his head, looking nervous.

"Hey," Burt said, furrowing his brow.

"Hi, Burt," Will replied, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly through his nose. "Could I come in?" Burt let the teacher in and they sat down on the couch awkwardly. He wasn't sure why it was awkward, but he was sure the teacher had some bad news or something. Lately, everything was bad news.

"I'm here to talk about Kurt," the teacher started, and Burt sighed. He should have known something was wrong at school. The first time Kurt came home bawling he should have done something. And why the hell didn't he do something about Blaine's car after he got out of the hospital? This whole thing could have been sorted out if he just wasn't a complete idiot.

"I figured something was wrong," he finally said, looking over at Will. He nodded slightly in return.

"He quit glee yesterday. I thought maybe he'd come back today, but he didn't. In fact, he avoided everyone in the club, including me. I tried to stop him in the hall, but he seemed kind of…"

"Distant?" Burt finished, and Will nodded. "Yeah, he's been like that here, too. He won't talk to me or anything. He just lies on his bed and stairs at the ceiling." He gestured to Kurt's room, where the kid had been since school got out. "I can't figure out what's wrong."

"Could I…?" Will looked in the direction of Kurt's room, and both adults stood.

"You can try, sure," Burt murmured, "but he's just… Not there." He rapped on the door lightly, but of course, there was no response. The only sound that emanated was the creak of the door as it opened.

Kurt was on his bed with the covers pulled up over his shoulders, breathing softly with his face away from the two men. They walked a little closer and watched for moment as his shoulders rose and fell slowly. Burt was merely grateful that Kurt could be so peaceful in his sleep, at least.

They left the boy to sleep, closing the door as quietly as possible behind them and going to the front door.

"Sorry he wasn't awake," Burt sighed. "He's been sleeping a lot lately too." He scratched his neck, uncomfortable with talking about Kurt like this. Like he was some sort of anomaly now. Like he wasn't Kurt, he was just _he_.

"That's alright, I don't think he would've wanted to talk anyway." Will paused for a second, then held up a finger, getting an idea. "Maybe we just don't know how to talk to him. I mean, we're not exactly experts with dealing with this kind of thing. Well, _I'm_ not. You?" Burt shook his head and held up his hands. "See? He just needs someone who can understand what's going on," he smiled. "I think I know someone who may be able to help."

* * *

><p>Emma was sharpening her pencils and arranging them in a cup on her desk when Will Schuester burst through her door. If it had been anyone else, she would have complained about how the rush of air from the door had scattered pencil shavings onto her blouse, but since it was Will, she barely paid attention and simply wiped them away with the back of her hand whilst smiling at his sudden entrance.<p>

"Will!" she greeted. The curly-headed man sat down in a chair across from her and muttered a quick hello. Emma's smile instantly faded when she realized Will wasn't smiling back. Actually, he looked worried. "What's wrong?" she asked, frowning and pushing her cup of pencils to the corner of the desk where they always were. "Something at home? Something with your parents?"

"No, no, nothing about me," Will replied, and Emma smiled in relief. "It's about a glee kid." She frowned again, nodding.

"Oh, what's wrong?"

"Burt thinks something may be going on with Kurt. I think so, too." Will started to fiddle with her newly sharpened pencils, pushing them in circles and shuffling them around. She told herself to remember to reorganize them once he left.

Suddenly Emma realized Will was waiting for a reply. She blinked back into reality and nodded. "Why, um… Why do you think that?"

"He's just acting so _weird_." He leaned forward, staring into her eyes intensely. "He won't talk, he walks around like a zombie, and get this: He quit glee club."

"No!" Emma said, leaning forward in her chair. She couldn't help it; Will always made everything sound so exciting.

"Yeah. And he's acting the same way at home. Burt's really worried."

"Well, has anything happened lately that would cause him to react like this? Anything at home? Family business?" As Will looked down to think, she took the opportunity to steal back her cup of pencils and begin rearranging them.

"Burt was in a car accident. Could that be it?" Emma nodded fervently. "And I think I've been hearing something about Blaine's car being totaled, but those are probably just rumors."

"The rumors are true, Gel," both adults turned heads as Sue walked through the door confidently and sat down on Emma's desk, scattering papers. "The Warbler's car was bashed and broken in to. Quite a beautiful sight, actually," she mused. "What, with all the shards of crystal glass and the sweet smell of air being released from tires."

"Did _you_ destroy his car?" Will asked, scared to hear the answer.

"Of course not, Gel. Why should I waste my time destroying someone else's property when I could be protecting my own? Survival of the fittest, that's what I say."

"That doesn't make any sense, Sue," he replied, shaking his head and exchanging a glance with Emma. She was leaning away from the coach, trying not to think that she was currently sitting on her papers. She busied herself with straightening the pencils once more.

"It doesn't have to make sense," she sniffed, "I'm a strong woman and I do not appreciate you telling me what I can and cannot do." Will and snorted with discontent and rolled his eyes. She was absolutely ridiculous, he thought.

"In my opinion," Sue continued, much to Will's annoyance, "Porcelain is acting like a freak because: One, his dad broke again. Two, his 'special friend's' car was smashed like a piñata at a little kid's party. Three, a student, I'm not going to say any names, Karofsky, started bullying him again. And four," she held up four fingers, pursing her lips for a moment. "Well, I only prepared three reasons. Maybe a fourth will come to me later."

"Wait," Will said, staring dumbfounded at her, "were you _eavesdropping_?"

"Gel, I am simply appalled at your accusation, and I will stand here and take it no longer." Sue abruptly stood and left, slamming the door behind her.

"She is unbelievable," he said, turning back to Emma.

"Actually, Will, she had some good points." She shrugged at his surprised expression. "If everything she said was true, which, let's be honest, it may not be, then that may be why Kurt's acting this way. I see teenagers go through depression, and from what you've told me, I think Kurt may be showing signs."

Will rubbed his temple, breathing deeply. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Kurt Hummel, the boy who was bubbling with personality and expression and creativity, _depressed_? She had to be wrong…

"Oh, I thought of a fourth," Sue exclaimed, peeping her head back into the room. "I'm pretty sure Porcelain's a flaming homosexual, but for now, keep it on the DL." She clicked her tongue and left again.

Will could feel a headache creeping up.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>I hope did Sue justice. She's actually really fun to write.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes:** So in this chapter there's a little Kurt, a little more Sue, and a little Finn. I hope you like it. And thanks again for all the new favorites, alerts, and reviews. You're all made of awesome!

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><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

"Could Kurt Hummel please report to the counselor's office?" A sweet voice drifted from the intercom, catching the attention of everyone in the class. All eyes turned to stare at the tall boy in the back of the classroom, who was sleeping soundly. His head lolled forward on his hand lazily, and he woke with a start as his cheek slipped from his palm. Looking up, he saw that everyone was staring pointedly at him, including the teacher.

"Mr. Hummel, if you are finished with your power nap, the counselor would like to see you," the teacher quipped, crossing her arms. He nodded meekly and stood, all but running out of the classroom, his cheeks growing redder as he heard sly remarks and chuckles behind him as he left.

The hallways were completely empty, and it had an almost eerie effect. Kurt's shoes clicked and echoed around him, reverberating off of lockers and returning with a metallic-sounding effect. It was like the perfect setting for a horror film.

Kurt stumbled a little, yawning as he regained his balance. He didn't want to go to the counselor's office; he just wanted to sleep. Rubbing his eyes, Kurt wandered around aimlessly for a while, reading posters, checking his locker, and staring at a clock for the longest minute of his life. Eventually, he staggered into the boy's bathroom.

The boy's bathroom was disgusting compared to the girls'. Paper towels littered the floor around the trashcan, water dripped down the sides of the sinks, and God knows what liquid was in puddles around the urinals. Kurt ignored the mirror and strolled around in a large circle for a while, yawning profusely and eventually stopping by the normal toilets. In one swift movement, he kicked open the door to one of the two stalls, whispering "Hyaah!" enthusiastically. With an ugly smile, he looked down at the foul toilet.

"We meet again," he whispered dramatically, falling to his knees with a thud. The clunk he made as he fell made the water in the toilet vibrate. The waves bounced off of each other and the sides of the bowl, swirling around. Kurt leaned forward, blowing on the water and watching as the surface rippled. His cheek rested on the cold white porcelain as he continued to watch the mesmerizing sight. Eventually, his eyelids became too heavy to keep open, and he fell asleep with his face pressed against the toilet seat and his legs sprawled out in the bathroom stall.

* * *

><p>"Could Kurt Hummel please report to the counselor's office?" The same sweet voice as before wafted back through the intercom again. The teacher huffed a light breath and made her way over to the wall, clicking a button to call the office.<p>

"We already sent him on his way twenty minutes ago," she said condescendingly. Her long fingernail tapped on the wall as she waited for the sweet voice to respond.

"Oh, um…" the woman on the other end responded, sounding shy. "He never showed up."

"Ok," the teacher replied, sounding annoyed. She swiveled her head to the snickering students, grinding her teeth. Her glare rested on Finn, who looked away with wide eyes. "Mr. Hudson," she snapped, and the tall student looked at her again. "Go find Mr. Hummel and take him to the counselor's office."

"Yes ma'am," he said, jumping up and leaving the classroom.

"Hello?" The timid, sweet voice called back the attention of the teacher, who sighed loudly.

"I've sent someone to get him," she barked, then hung up and walked back to the front of the class.

* * *

><p>Finn had no idea where to find Kurt. Where was he even supposed to start looking? He just stood in the hallway for a while, staring around blankly. Maybe if he waited long enough, he would just show up or something. That seemed logical, right?<p>

No, that was stupid, and he knew it. Finn started walking, looking down every corridor and in every classroom. The latter move usually got him into trouble with teachers, though, so he stopped. And after peeking into a janitor's closet and catching the old man dancing with a dirty mop, he nearly gave up the search all together. He couldn't even find matching socks in the morning. How was he expected to find a _person_?

"What do you think you're doing, Amazon? Besides spreading around your sick back perspiration, that is. Seriously, you should get that checked out." Finn spun on his heels, heart racing as he heard the sour voice that could only belong to the one Sue Sylvester. She had her hands in fists resting on her sweat-suit-clad hips, and her perma-scowl face was glaring in his direction.

"Oh, uh, I was just looking for Kurt," he stuttered, looking at anything and everything but the angry coach. "My teacher sent me… Wait," he furrowed his brow, looking over at her. "Aren't Amazon's girls?"

"Sexist. Typical boy athlete." Finn looked at the floor, thinking hard. "Stop making that face," Sue said, catching his attention again. "You look like you're trying to release your bowels all ever my beautiful tile floor," she swiped her arm, gesturing to the ground around her feet.

"Release my…?" Before Finn could think any harder, coach Sylvester grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him along with her down the hallway, walking to fast and making him trip more than once. "Am I in trouble?" he managed to squeak out after a while.

"No," she replied frankly.

"Then why are you holding me like this?" Finn pointed to her hand, which was fisted around his collar so tightly, he was having a hard time breathing. She released him, and he breathed in a heavy sigh of relief.

"Sorry, force of habit," she said, then turned to the teenager and cocked her head to the side. "You said you're looking for Porcelain?"

"Yeah, he was called down to the counselor's off—"

"Don't care; I just want you out of my hallways," she cut him off, glowering again. "Try in there," Sue pointed to the boys' bathroom, which she had dragged the teenager to. Finn started to head to the door, but he heard footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulder and noticed that Sue was following him.

"Um… What are you doing?" he asked, stopping in his tracks.

"What, just because I'm a woman means I can't go into the boys' bathroom?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, squinting his eyes. "That's kind of the point." Instead of replying, the coach just sniffed and shoved past him, strolling confidently ahead. He followed her, looking around at the quiet room. It didn't look like anyone was in here. But suddenly there was a soft noise that vaguely sounded like snoring. Both the teenager and the coach looked over to a stall, tilting their heads at what they saw.

Long, lean legs were spread out around the stall floor, and arms hung loosely, fingers brushing the bottom of the toilet. Finn and Sue stepped forward, gently pushing open the stall to reveal that the figure was, indeed, Kurt. His face was pressed up again the toilet seat, and he was sleeping soundly. Finn looked over to Sue, who had a grim expression on her face. When she saw him looking at her, she shook her head, regaining her usually smug scowl.

"He blends right in with the ceramic," she shook her head again. "Alright, time to get him up." Finn nodded and reached forward to shake his shoulder, but it didn't matter. Sue had reached forward and flushed the toilet, then knocked his head off the seat so it plopped into the water.

"Aah!" Kurt exclaimed, pulling his wet face from the toilet. He stumbled upright, leaning on the stall wall for support. Hair dripping with water and eyes blinking rapidly, he looked around bewilderedly for some sort of explanation. His gray-green-blue eyes rested on Finn, then on Sue, and he frowned.

"Looks like the Porcelain Queen needed a throne to match," Sue said, smiling smugly. She reached forward and took Kurt's arm, pulling him out of the stall and out of the bathroom. Finn followed closely behind, mouth hanging open as he tried to figure out what just happened. He couldn't help but notice how Sue was holding his arm almost… _gently_? But just before, she had almost strangled him while holding his collar.

The coach dropped him off at the counselor's office and walked away hastily. Finn watched his brother go sulkily into the office, then followed Sue once more, nearly sprinting to keep up.

"Hey, wait," he called, but, of course, she didn't stop. Once he caught up with her swift walk, he turned to look at her again. Her face was back to its original expression, but something seemed off. "What was Kurt doing?" he asked suddenly, thinking back to his brother. He couldn't place why someone would fall asleep like that. Or, better yet, _how_ they could fall asleep like that. How'd his face get down there anyway?

"Sleeping," she replied. "It's what people do when they're tired."

"That's not what I meant. I mean, why was he sleeping on the toilet?" Sue stopped and turned to face him, her expression angry. He backed up a little, scared.

"Look, I'd tell you, but I really don't think that dense head of yours has any room to understand or care about it. If anyone had cared at all, they would know by now." She turned heel and walked off faster than before, leaving Finn to stare wide-eyed at her. What did she mean? What wouldn't he care about? With the normal confused expression on his face, Finn headed back to class, too many things running through his mind.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes: **So, I hope this chapter isn't too confusing. I tried to explain it a little, but I don't know if I did. It's a little bit in the future now, but only about a week or a week and a half. But anyway... Enjoy! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

"One medium drip and a non-fat mocha, please," Blaine ordered, smiling at the girl over the counter. She gave him his order and bit her lip in a sultry way, giving him _that look_. Once he had paid for the order, he leaned forward on the counter, causing the girl's eyes to light up. She leaned towards him eagerly, and Blaine quickly pointed over to Kurt, who was sitting alone at an empty table, waiting. "The non-fat mocha is for that adorable boy over there. He's my boyfriend,' he whispered, grinning at her disappointed expression.

As he walked back to the table, he noticed Kurt staring slack-jawed at the space in front of him. When he set the non-fat mocha down in front of him, the tall boy blinked back to reality and smiled, but Blaine could tell it was fake. Something was still up with him, but the Warbler was taking it easy with the investigation. He hated seeing Kurt angry at him.

"Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" Blaine said, and a thunderous clap followed his statement, accenting the sarcasm. Both boys peeked out a window at the pouring rain as it smacked against buildings and cars and passersby. Kurt shook his head and smiled widely. It's getting better, Blaine thought, looking at the grin. It was still forced, but at least it was somewhat real.

When his stupid joke was followed by an awkward silence, Blaine set his jaw. He refused to have any moment be uncomfortable with Kurt. "Any homework?" he tried again, hoping his boyfriend would actually participate in the conversation this time.

"No, some of my teachers are still treating me with the post-family-accident clause," he said in that adorable sassy voice. Blaine had to smile at him, and Kurt smiled back, for real this time.

"Well can you blame them? I mean, look at yourself," Blaine gestured to Kurt, who was wearing an expensive-looking gray v-neck tucked into his (probably designer) black jeans. Lately his style wasn't what it used to be, but even a sad Kurt couldn't resist wearing somewhat fashionable clothes. "You look positively drab," he said in a joking tone. The tall boy straightened himself in his seat and looked around, as if checking to see if anyone had overheard.

"It's not my fault," he pouted, jutting out his bottom lip, "I haven't gone out shopping in two weeks." Two weeks, Blaine thought sadly. Right about the time when he started acted funny. Suddenly a genius idea popped into the Warbler's mind. He almost grinned like a madman, but hid it by taking a big swig of his medium drip instead.

"Well, how about we go shopping? There's this great new place a couple miles out from Dalton that I think you'll like," Blaine set the trap, knowing exactly what Kurt would say. Right after he finished the question, the taller boy started making a comprehensive face. The Warbler watched as his boyfriend took a sip of his non-fat mocha, stalling his answer a little longer.

"I don't know…" Kurt trailed off, suddenly very interested in his drink. He opened the lid and poked at the liquid with his finger, acting like he was checking the temperature. "I have…"

"You don't have any homework, as I recall," Blaine stated, snapping the trap shut as Kurt glanced at him, a blush rising on his cheeks. "And you agreed to come to the coffee shop with me because you said you had no plans," he smiled hopefully, watching his boyfriend's expression carefully.

Kurt hadn't wanted to do _anything_ with Blaine lately. Every date he planned would get shot down before it was even considered. Just three days before, the Warbler had made a reservation at a nice sushi place, and when he told Kurt about it, the boy had a fit, ranting on and on about things that didn't even make sense. Blaine was seriously starting to think he had some sort of Kurt-withdrawal syndrome.

"Ok," Kurt stated, bringing Blaine out of his thoughts. He looked over at his boyfriend, who had closed the lid to his drink and was now standing up.

"What? Really?" He could feel his heartbeat increasing as he awaited another 'Never mind, I'm tired,' spiel. But Kurt just breathed in deeply and nodded, his smile hesitant.

"Yeah," he practically whispered, and Blaine shot up out of his chair before he could change his answer. Grinning like a child in a toy store, Blaine wrapped his arm around his boyfriend and virtually dragged him out of the coffee shop to his car.

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><p>Blaine looked over at Kurt, who was sifting through a pile of sweaters like an expert. He leaned on a wall, just enjoying watching the tall brunette. He looked like he was in absolute heaven as he reached into intimidating piles of cardigans and blazers and pulled out what he desired. His multi-colored eyes glowed as he stared painstakingly at the collection of cloth in his arms. When they seemed to be of his liking, Kurt smiled and walked towards the dressing rooms.<p>

His legs moves smoothly and confidently across the floor, and he looked to Blaine as if he belonged on the runway. Hips swaying ever so slightly, shoulders thrust back assertively, facial expression serious yet just a little bit sensual. The look reminded Blaine of the girl at the coffee shop. Only Kurt is actually sexy, he thought, smiling to himself. He watched Kurt disappear behind a door, then took action.

Grabbing a random pair of pants from behind him, Blaine bee-lined toward the dressing rooms, slipping past the guy who was giving out the rooms. He could see Kurt's shoes from underneath the door, and knocked hastily, sending nervous glances toward the man, who still hadn't noticed that Blaine had slipped by. Kurt opened the door and peeked around the edge with a surprised look.

"Blaine, what are you—" He pushed his way into the room and shut the door, grinning as if he accomplished something great. He tossed the pants aside and glanced over to his boyfriend, who was giggling at the crazy-looking Warbler.

"I thought," Blaine paused, trying to think of something to say that sounded reasonable. He settled for something that at least was a complete thought. "I thought you might need some help getting dressed." He clicked his tongue and stepped forward, backing his boyfriend up into a corner. Kurt looked like he was about to say something, but Blaine cut him off with a kiss.

He shivered slightly as Kurt's nimble fingers made their way up his back and to his hair. He wasn't sure why his boyfriend had such an obsession with releasing his curls from their confines, but right now, he wasn't complaining. Blaine moaned in appreciation as his tongue was granted access into his boyfriend's mouth. His body pressed eagerly up against the other's, and he loved the way they fit together perfectly like two puzzle pieces.

"Yeah, this is really helping me get dressed," Kurt said in a husky voice as Blaine made his way down to his neck, kissing the area right above the collar bone. He knew his boyfriend loved it when he kissed there, and, as if to encourage that thought, Kurt's breath came just a bit faster.

"Oh, sorry," he said between long kisses, "I forgot about that." Blaine felt his way down Kurt's sides to the top of his pants. His fingers, much less dexterous than Kurt's, scrabbled around to get a grip on the shirt and pull it out. He smiled above the soft skin beneath his mouth when he found his hold and tugged the shirt upwards, pulling it free from the pants.

"Blaine," Kurt started to say something, but his voice trailed off with a gasp as Blaine's hands trailed onto his stomach and traveled around appreciatively. Kurt's skin was smooth and he let his thumb feel around his belly button— another sensitive area, he knew. He also noticed something he hadn't before; Kurt's skin was very cold. Or maybe my hands are just really warm, he thought, shrugging it off. Grabbing the hem of the shirt again, Blaine started to lift it upwards, but was shocked out of words when he felt a strong slap on his arms.

He looked up at Kurt, uncertain if he had just imagined it. Sure enough, the tall boy was glaring at him, arms now crisscrossed over his stomach. Trying to turn it into a joke, Blaine smiled and reached his arms forward again, wrapping them around Kurt and leaning up to kiss him on the mouth. But the attempted joke was shot down as Blaine felt stern hands on his chest shoving him roughly away.

"Kurt, what gives?" he said, kind of angry as his back hit the door handle hard. He rubbed the surely-bruised area, staring at his boyfriend crossly.

"I told you to stop," Kurt said quietly, looking down at his feet.

"No, you didn't," he barked, trying to ignore how small and scared his boyfriend looked. "And anyway, I wasn't going to do anything, you should know that. I'd never force you into something like that." He waited for his boyfriend to reply, but Kurt just stood there looking guilty. At least he's not proud of himself, he thought grimly. Suddenly Kurt's head snapped up and something in his eyes had changed; they looked dark and irritated. But Blaine wasn't sure if they looked irritated because he was mad, or because his eyes were bloodshot. Why were they bloodshot?

"Well you shouldn't have been in here doing that in the first place," he retorted, getting a mean look on his face that Blaine had to admit wasn't very endearing.

"Why not?"

"It was inappropriate!" Kurt was almost shouting now, and he had gotten as far back into the corner as possible. His arms were wrapped protectively around his stomach, and Blaine forced himself to look away.

"_Inappropriate_? Kurt, I'm your boyfriend, it's not that big of a deal," he scoffed, but Kurt seemed to be taking this way too seriously.

"Maybe you shouldn't be." Blaine froze, staring at the tall boy. But Kurt was avoiding all eye contact now, and he was staring at the floor again.

"Kurt," he started, his heart beating way too fast, "you can't mean that. Please, tell me you don't mean that." But his boyfriend just stayed silent, building up tension in the dressing room. Suddenly the confined space felt way too small for Blaine, and he could feel a lump growing in his throat. His eyes started to sting. "Please…"

"I'm going home," Kurt whispered, pushing past Blaine. The Warbler couldn't move; his feet were cemented to the ground. He didn't know when he started crying, or when he had fallen onto the floor, or when he was escorted out of the store for causing a scene, but somehow he had ended up in his bed. His breathing was irregular and it hurt, but he didn't care about that. He just wanted Kurt.

He was supposed to be there for him now, to help him with whatever he was going through. He didn't even _know_ what Kurt was going through. God, I'm an awful person, he thought, shoving his hands onto his face. I'm a terrible, selfish, idiotic person who doesn't deserve Kurt. Just thinking about his (ex-?) boyfriend caused Blaine to start crying again, and oh, God, how it hurt. Every sob that rumbled through his body hurt worse than the last. He just wanted it to stop…

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><p>Kurt just wanted it to stop. Every time he looked down, he gagged again, and every time he gagged, he felt like there was a hand ripping and tearing away at his esophagus. Nothing was even coming out anymore, but he just wanted to be sure.<p>

Thankfully, no one knew about this still. He was forced to go to the school counselor a couple times a week, but they thought he was mildly depressed or something, which meant he had to be on his toes when he was around other people. He still didn't rejoin glee club, but he tried to sit by his friends and talk more so they weren't suspicious. Everything had been going great.

That is, until Blaine tried to see him shirtless. He hadn't meant to snap like he did, but the fear of his appearance was too great. Kurt had lost quite a lot of weight in the past two weeks, and it was pretty obvious with the right shirt, let alone _no_ shirt.

Lost in thought, Kurt had let his eyes drop back down to the toilet bowl, and he suddenly came back into focus, catching the sight of his vomit washing around disgustingly. Another coughing gag raked through his body, hurting his throat, mouth, lungs, and every other part of his body. Oh, God, he thought as spit dripped from his chin. Make it stop.

He just wanted it to stop…


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

cos 2_t_ = cos2 t – sin2 t = 2 cos2 t – 1 = 1 – 2 sin2 t

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><p>Finn stared at the homework in front of his face, convinced that he must have accidentally received the wrong paper. This has to be in some sort of foreign language, he thought, blinking. Like, Greek or British or something…<p>

He watched it, waiting hopefully for it to become comprehensive. But he was almost positive it just kept getting more complex. There were too many _t_'s and too many symbols… And was that cosine there the whole time?

His jaw dropped as he realized there was a back to the worksheet. He hadn't even gotten past the first question on the front! He buried his face in his hands in defeat. Where was he even supposed to use this outside of class? Was he supposed to be turning a corner on the road, then suddenly start thinking, "Oh, hey, wait a minute. I just turned the car at a thirty degree angle. If the opposite side of the created triangle was thirteen feet, then I could find the hypotenuse by using sine. That sounds fun!" He groaned, rubbing his eyes. He didn't even know what that meant.

Standing and gripping the horrible homework in his hand, Finn walked into the kitchen, finding Carole making dinner. She looked up and smiled when he entered.

"Hey, Mom," he said, walking up and setting the paper down on the counter. "Could you help?" She gave one look at the homework, then laughed and shook her head.

"You know I'm awful at math, sweetie. How do you expect me to be good at Algebra?"

"It's trig…"

"My point exactly," she grinned, wiping her hands on a towel. "Maybe you could ask Burt. He's in the living room," she pointed over to the area, and Finn sighed, turning and heading over there. He just couldn't see the point of the homework. Sine… Cosine… Tangent… _Ugh_. Who _cared_?

"Hey, Burt, could you help me with something?" Finn walked up to the living room couch, where his step-dad was sitting watching football. Burt muted the TV and patted the seat beside him invitingly.

"Sure, kid, what you need?" Finn sat down beside him and held out the paper, but the moment Burt's eyes widened, he knew it was useless. He took his hat off and rubbed his bald head nervously, chuckling slightly. "Yeah, I don't know if I can help you out here, sorry." He smiled apologetically, shrugging. "I bet Kurt could help," he muttered, looking down. Lately saying Kurt's name always ended awkwardly, but Finn wasn't sure why. All he knew was that his brother was sad or something… Maybe it had something to do with that day in the bathroom, but he didn't know.

"Ok, thanks anyway," he said, standing up. He was considering not even doing the work, figuring it wouldn't hurt him in the long run. He'd never use it anywhere anyway. But when he walked past Kurt's room, he thought about what Burt had said. Maybe he _would_ be able to help. Hey, maybe if he was really lucky, his brother would just do the entire paper for him.

Smiling, Finn walked back and knocked on the door, listening close for an answer. When there was none, he knocked again, harder this time, and said, "Hello?" When there was still no answer, he went ahead and let himself in. Usually Kurt got mad when he did that, but this was important. Wait, he thought, scoffing. No it isn't.

"Kurt?" He called, looking around. The room was shockingly messier than his. The sheets were tangle at the foot of the bed, dirty clothes littered the floor, and school work and textbooks lay open and crumpled around an untidy corner. That was weird; Kurt's room was usually spotless. Finn caught a glimpse of one of the textbooks: Tropic of Calculus. He smiled, thinking that his brother could definitely help him out.

He jumped suddenly at a noise from somewhere. It sounded like a savage animal, hacking up a bone from its victim. He walked slowly towards the sound, but as he got closer, it got worse. The animal morphed into a wicked beast, snarling and coughing violently. He backed away slowly, gulping.

"Kurt, you've got something in your bathroom," he said hesitantly, holding his homework in front of him like a shield. But the beast from behind the door stopped its vicious roaring, changing now to pathetic coughs and sputters. Finn could hear shuffling from the bathroom; the sound of water running and towels dropping quickly followed. He stepped forward slowly, listening for anything else. The toilet flushing loudly was the last sound that emanated from the room before the door swung open.

Finn gasped and turned around, dropping his homework in his haste whilst screaming in surprise. "Aaah!" He stumbled forward, trying to get away from whatever creature was hiding behind the door. From the snarls that he had heard, he could presume that he didn't want to witness whatever had made the noise.

"Finn!" Oh, God, it knew his name! The voice was scratchy and harsh; definitely belonging to something fierce. In his flurry he tripped over stray scarf, falling forward. He slammed onto the floor, becoming buried in clothes. This was it; this is where he met his maker, his end, his inevitable doom. He curled in on himself, scrunching his eyes shut tightly and whimpering slightly. Oh, God… "Finn, I could live in the same house as you for my entire life, but even that time won't be long enough for me to ever figure you out." The beast sounded strangely like Kurt… But it couldn't possibly be him. Finn couldn't imagine his brother making those _disturbing_ noises. No, definitely not. This was most certainly a savage creature come to take his life. And now it wanted to _live_ with him. "Get _up_!" He felt hands attempting to pull him up, but the attempt was futile. Either Finn was too heavy, or the arms were too weak. Either way, Finn stood, brushing a sock off of his shoulder and looking over to see… Oh, it was Kurt. He smiled.

"Hey, Kurt, could you help me with some trig?" He held up his hand, but realized it was empty. Over his brother's shoulder he could see the white paper on the floor, and he walked over to get it, all the while trying to explain why he had intruded into Kurt's room. "I asked Carole and Burt to help, but they don't know much about math, so I went to you, because I know you're in Calculus, right? You didn't answer when I knocked on the door, so I went ahead and came in. I hope that's alright. It's alright, right?" He turned to look at his brother, but quickly realized that it was not, in fact, alright.

"Finn, when has it ever been alright for you to be in my room without my permission?" Kurt pursed his lips and stared at Finn with a lethal gaze, making him gulp.

"Uh..." He tried not to make direct eye contact, so he looked at anything but Kurt's toxic stare. He looked… _really_ sick. His face was deathly pale, and his cheeks were swollen to an abnormal size. His lips, drawn into a menacing sneer, were dry and cracked. And now that he was actually looking more closely at Kurt's eyes, they weren't actually scary at all; his bloodshot eyes almost seemed sunken in his head, and the bags under his eyes were obviously heavy. Kurt didn't look mad or forbidding, he just looked ill.

"Is that all you have to say for yourself? '_Uh_?' Finn, you invaded my privacy. And for what? So you could ask for help with math?" He snatched the homework from him, holding the paper in front of his nose and blocking Finn's view of his sickly brother. He scoffed and handed the paper back hastily, crossing his arms. "It's basic trigonometry, _Finn_," he hissed. "Just plug in the variables." Even his voice sounded bad, like when someone had a sore throat.

"Are you ok?" He looked at Kurt closely, trying to spot any other unhealthy features. Overall, his brother just looked tiny. His arms were twigs overlapping each other in front of his chest, his shirt hung extremely loosely over his stomach, and his jeans were way too big. A belt was cinched so small around his waist, three holes were added just so it would fit.

"Of course I'm ok," he snapped, and Finn noticed Kurt backing away slowly.

"Are you sure? You look… sick." His brother gaped, looking offended. "You look like you've been…" A light bulb suddenly went off in his head, and he pointed to his brother. "Were you barfing?" A bright, red blush appeared on his pastel cheeks, and his dull eyes looked away. "Ewww," Finn said, laughing. So the terrifying beast he had heard earlier was just his brother vomiting his guts out.

"It isn't gross, Finn, it's… It's… It's _productive_."

"Productive? Dude, it's sick… Literally," he smiled, turning around to leave. But he felt a cold hand wrapping around his arm and keeping him there. A weak tug followed, remind Finn again about how sick Kurt seemed. He turned, seeing that his brother looked more serious than ever.

"You can't tell anyone," he said in a hoarse voice, letting his freezing hand fall from its grip on his arm.

"Why would I—"

"Just don't tell. Please." The desperate look in Kurt's eyes made Finn agree not to tell. But he wasn't sure why his brother would think he would tell anyone in the first place. Was he supposed to? Why?

"Fine, I won't tell anyone," he said, then chuckled slightly. "It's not like I go around telling everyone gross things you do." Kurt didn't seem to see the funny side of his joke, and he scrunched up his features angrily.

"Get out," he demanded, pointing to the door.

"Dude, sorry, I was just—"

"Get the _fuck_ out, Finn!" He jumped, startled at his brother's choice of words. He had never used that kind of language around him. He turned and left, and Kurt slammed the door hard behind him, accentuating his fury. Finn rolled his eyes and walked to his room, trying to forget about his brother. He was just cranky or something. What was is called when that happened? PMS? Rachel got it sometimes, too.

When Finn got in his room, he collapsed on the bed, remembering that he still had his unfinished homework in his hand. He gave it one quick glance, then tossed it aside, deciding that sleep would probably be more productive. Or I could be like Kurt and barf, he thought as he started to doze off.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Ok, so, I hope you guys don't hate how I'm writing Finn. I know right now he's kind of a jerk and all, but I'm talking more about the fact that he's kind of an idiot. I like when in the show he's portrayed as a little dull and slow, so I tried that. Although, I exaggerated it quite a bit... Tell me what'cha think. :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes: **This chapter is a little shorter than the previous ones, so sorry about that. But I wanted to update today so I could wish everyone a Happy Valentine's Day! Did you get anything from anyone special? Everyone looking forward to Glee tonight? I know I am! But anywho...

This chapter is leading up to the next (obviously), where I'm planning to have the climax of the story(but certainly not the end). I swear there is a method to my madness with Sue. I swear!

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><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

Everyone knew.

Kurt walked down the school hallway, glancing from side to side nervously. His fingers twitched fretfully at his side, and his eyes were wide with fear. He could see it in their faces as they walked by; the scrutiny, the repulsion, the disgust.

Everyone knew.

He could hear whispers behind him, like fingernails on a chalk board. The gossiping struck him to the core, and he could just imagine the hurtful things they were saying. Murmuring about how the gay kid threw up to feel empowered. Hissing lies about the queer who vomited to be skinny. His stomach flipped as he saw a student stare at him then deliberately turn and say something to his friend.

Everyone knew.

Every glance and mocking smile was a hard blow to Kurt. His chest burned and heaved with the effort of just continuing on without barking at everyone who walked by. Everything was suddenly too tight on his body. His jeans restricted blood flow to his legs, his shirt collar choked him, and his shoes seemed to numb his feet. And it was hot. Oh, Gaga, it was so hot.

Kurt stumbled, tripping over his own feet. He almost rammed into a student going the opposite way of him, but jumped out of the way just in time. He rested his weight on a cool locker, suddenly feeling too weak to hold himself up. His heart was beating rapidly in his ears, along with the echoing whispers of everyone around him. _He's sick… He's disgusting… He's bulimic… _The accusations got louder and louder, like the beat of a relentless drum. It thundered through his mind, creating a splitting headache. Kurt closed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears, willing it to end.

When his eyes opened again, he could see _him_ standing across the hall at his locker. _He_ was the cause of all of this. And there he was, smiling away like there was nothing wrong. Scowling in both pain and anger, Kurt stumbled through the crowded hall to _him_.

"_You_," he growled, pushing Finn weakly against the lockers. The tall boy looked down at his brother, and Kurt was furious that he had the nerve to look confused.

"What's your problem?" Finn was talking quietly and looking around like he was afraid someone was going to judge. Yeah, Kurt thought, he's embarrassed to be seen with me after what's he has revealed to the world.

"I don't know, why don't you ask everybody else? They should know," he spat, venom dripping from every syllable. How could he do this to him? _Why_ would he do this?

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Finn replied, gently pushing his brother away from him. "And can you get off of me? People are starting to stare."

"Oh, people are staring at _you_? How do you think I feel, Finn? I'm a walking gossip feature. Everything about me screams headline news. Everybody," he had to stop to catch his breath, then shook his head and started again, glaring at his brother. "Everybody is looking at me like I'm a freak. And it's all because of _you_."

"What?" Finn shook his head, looking extremely lost. He tried to walk away, but Kurt reached out and stopped him with a touch of his cold fingertips to his arm. His skin was scalding hot, and he recoiled his fingers, frowning.

"How could you? You promised not to tell!" Finn turned back around and stared at him for a second, and a realization was apparent in his features.

"You think I told everyone about you puke—"

"Finn, _please_!" Kurt hissed, glancing over his shoulder.

"Whatever," he held up his hands in defeat. "I didn't tell, if that's what you're worried about." Maybe it was his fury blinding him, maybe it was the pure adrenaline pumping through his veins and keeping him moving, or maybe it was just because he was in a bad mood. Either way, Kurt felt himself balling up his fist. Before he could stop it, his hand jabbed out, punching Finn square in the eye. The tall boy shrank back, clutching his hands over his face. "What the _hell_, Kurt!" Finn groaned and glared out of his one good eye, but Kurt was already gone.

* * *

><p>What is <em>wrong<em> with him? Finn flinched for the umpteenth time as the nurse applied an ice pack to his badly bruised eye. Although, he had to admit Kurt threw a pretty powerful punch. So much muscle in such a tiny arm…

He flinched again as the nurse accidentally poked a purple welt with her fingernail. He took the ice pack from her, silently pleading that she would let go. Fortunately, she did. The nurse busied herself with a kid who claimed that he felt sick, but he was obviously faking it. Finn sat back and tried not to think about the pulsing bruise that made the entire left half of his face throb with pain. So far, he wasn't having much luck.

"Where's Gigantosaurus Rex?" Finn continued to look down at the floor, hoping that he had heard wrong. Or maybe she was looking for someone else. Just because it was a stab at someone tall didn't mean it had to be him, right? Wrong. Not two seconds later a pair of expensive-looking sneakers appeared in front of him. Slowly, he raised his eyes, taking in the blue jumpsuit in all its glory. The blond head atop the ensemble was shaking her head in a disappointed way. He gulped.

"Coach Sylvester," he greeted, smiling weakly. When she didn't return the favor— not that he expected her to— his smile drooped and he looked away.

"Where'd you get that shiner? Trip over a village of normal-sized people and tumble down while they screamed '_timber_!' whilst running away in pure terror?" She crossed her arms and looked down at him with that cold stare he had come to loathe.

"Kurt hit me," he muttered.

"Sweet Porcelain?" She sounded more shocked than he would have expected, and when Finn looked up at her, she seemed worried.

"Yeah, he got mad and punched me. He's a lot stronger than you'd expect," Finn joked, chuckling. "Even considering what's going on, he still packs a punch. Literally."

"What's going on?" Sue snapped back to her usual facial expression, so he looked away again. It was only after he processed her question that he realized what he had done. Oh, man, Kurt was going to kill him.

"Um, nothing," he stuttered, suddenly feeling the pain from the black eye again. He could feel it pulsing along with the beat of his heart, which was pretty fast.

Sue, surprisingly, kneeled down in front of Finn, and he stared at her in horror. What was she doing? Both of her hands rested on the armrests on either side of him. Oh, God, what was going on? He pressed himself against the back of his chair as far as he could go, feeling the plastic right up against his spine.

"Listen to me right now, Frankenteen," she ordered, and Finn nodded intensely. "I need you to tell me _exactly_ what is going on. I need you to tell me everything you know, leaving out nothing. Do you understand?" He gulped hard and nodded again. "Good," she leaned forward, her face uncomfortably close to his. He could feel her breath on his face as her blue eyes bore into his skin like drills. "Now talk."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes:** So there are a couple warnings for this chapter. In general, the usual thoughts that are associated with eating disorders. In addition to that, there is some language. I tried not to make anything too incredibly graphic, but if you're squeamish, beware. :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 18<strong>

There were only two words that came to mind when Kurt looked at himself: hideous and _fat_. He stood shirtless in front of the mirror, holding himself up on the ledge. His cheeks were plump, his hips were too wide, and there was a round, persistent pudge protruding from his stomach. He parted his lips and drew in a small breath, wincing as it traveled down his throat slowly. The only thing worse than his appearance, was how he felt.

The pounding in his head from school had followed him home, and it was becoming increasingly harder to breathe without wheezing. As if to prove his thought, Kurt coughed hard, gasping as he tried to catch his breath again. When he was breathing somewhat normally, he looked down at the sink. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the toilet.

He wanted to kneel down by the toilet like he always did, but it was way too far away. He could barely hold himself up at the counter, and he knew he wouldn't be able to make it to the toilet. His attention was brought to his stomach again, where he knew that day's lunch was sitting, adding calories and pounds to his body that he certainly didn't need. He hadn't wanted to eat, but he really couldn't afford to make anyone suspicious, so he had forced himself to scarf down a salad. He had eaten every ranch-smothered leaf of lettuce, every tomato slice, and every seasoned crouton.

Kurt gagged.

Just thinking about the food made him want to hurl. It was absolutely disgusting. A picture of the meal flashed through his mind again, and he could see himself shoveling the food into his mouth. He could feel it being pushed down his throat and into his stomach.

No, that wasn't it. He could feel it being pushed _out_ of his stomach and _up_ his throat. Kurt gagged again, but this time it actually produced bile. He spat up into the sink, bending over and putting all of his weight onto the cold counter. His fingers curled around anything they could get ahold of, and he squeezed tightly as another retch racked his body. But what he had grabbed onto wasn't attached to the counter, and as his legs gave out beneath him, Kurt slipped off of the sink, whacking his chin on the edge as he fell.

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><p>Burt had been in the shop, working hard on a car engine, when one of his coworkers called over to him saying that he had a call from the school. He had casually wiped off his hands and face, probably wasting a good thirty seconds. He had leisurely made his way over to the phone, certainly wasting another twenty-five. His incredibly slow arm had brought the phone up to his ear, and he had listened as the school principal talked and talked and talked some more, wasting even more precious time.<p>

Each second that had passed, he had thrown away carelessly.

"Can we go any faster?" Burt prompted eagerly, looking over at his coworker, who was the one driving. In response, he went about two and a half miles per hour faster. Yeah, he thought, that'll help.

Burt tried to busy himself by doing something. Anything, really. But he was limited to either listening to music or thinking about what his son might be doing while he made his way ever so slowly to their house. Even with the music blaring in his ears, he couldn't think of anything but Kurt. God, he hoped he was okay. He hoped he wasn't too late.

* * *

><p>Oh, shit, it hurt. Shit, shit, shit, shit, <em>fuck<em>! Kurt clutched at his bare chest and stomach and everything else, trying to pinpoint where it hurt. But it hurt _everywhere_. He gasped violently, trying to get air to stay in his lungs for longer than a millisecond. He couldn't catch his breath, though, so he just kept panting away. Every time he sucked in a breath, he coughed because it hurt, then he gasped because the cough hurt so much. And when he gasped, he had to suck in air, which made him cough again. It was a never ending cycle of sheer agony.

"_Aah_!" He cried out feebly, reaching around him as another stab of pain hit. It felt like his lungs were imploding in on themselves, forcing out any and all of the air he was trying to breath. His ribcage felt like a literal cage on his chest, crushing down and getting tighter each time he took a breath or coughed.

Kurt turned his head to the side, pressing his cheek up against the hard tile. He was surprised when he felt something sticky and wet on his face, and tried hard to concentrate his eyes. He was having a hard time focusing on anything but the pain at the moment, but finally got to the point where he could at least distinguish colors. He looked at the floor beside him, only seeing crimson. He screamed.

* * *

><p>Burt stumbled out of his coworker's car, telling him to wait there. He hadn't told anyone at work what was going on, only that he had to get home. He was, honestly, a little embarrassed. But, then again, he was ashamed of himself for being ashamed. This was Kurt he was talking about. This was his <em>son<em>.

He burst through the front door, taking in everything around him. The house was quiet and serene, nothing out of place. Everything was just like it always was, which made Burt wonder how long this had been going on. He had just been sitting idly around while his son destroyed himself. He was completely clueless.

No, he couldn't beat himself up, at least not yet. He needed to focus on helping Kurt. Burt took a deep, calming breath and walked forward, his heart pounding in his ears. The fact that he could easily have a heart attack again nagged at the back of his mind, and he tried really hard to ignore it. But the persistent realization that it could happen kept popping back up in his mind like a weasel. The thought just made him even more nervous, and his heart pounded faster.

No, he thought firmly. I can have a heart attack later, just not now. But what he heard next completely masked out his fear of dying. From downstairs, Burt heard a heart-wrenching, painful scream, and he could tell immediately that it was his son.

* * *

><p>Blood. There was so much blood. It was everywhere, but Kurt couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. Driven by pure adrenaline, he had pushed himself up on his hands and knees, and he stared down at the pool of deep red blood beneath him. He was so scared now, all he could think about was…<p>

Nothing. He couldn't think at all, actually, which scared Kurt even more. He knew he was bleeding, he knew he was growing weaker, and he knew he had stopped breathing. He had stopped breathing a while ago. Or was it just a few seconds? He couldn't remember when he had given up trying to force air into his useless lungs, he just knew he had stopped.

He was absolutely terrified. And what was worse, he was getting dizzy. Everything around him was warping and bending, changing into distorted images of colors and very vague shapes. The crimson blood underneath him twisted together with the blinding white tile, creating a swirl that just increased his vertigo.

He had to get up. The order flashed through his mind. Albeit the thought was faint and weak, but it was still there, and he knew to follow it. Kurt raised a shaky arm, pressing his slick, blood-covered fingers on the cabinets beneath his sink. He slowly raised his other arm and grabbed the top of the counter, trying to grip the surface firmly. When he thought he had it, Kurt pulled one leg from underneath him, setting his foot flat on the ground. He pushed downward, feeling a sense of accomplishment as he felt himself rising higher and higher.

Suddenly he heard a click from somewhere around him, and he fished his mind, trying to figure out what the sound was. Too late, he realized it was the sound of his door opening. No! Nobody could see him like this!

Kurt turned too quickly, the images around him morphing together in one confusing mass of red and white and circles and lines and feelings and pain… He tried to tell the intruder to leave, to go away and never walk in like that again, but no words came out when he tried to speak. He remembered again that he couldn't breathe, and therefore he couldn't talk. Oh, God, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't _breathe_!

Kurt could feel himself slipping on something wet. What was water doing on the floor? Did he take a shower? Kurt saw a flash of red in the confusing mass of swirling chaos, which reminded him that he had been bleeding. No, he _was_ bleeding. Oh, dear God, he was bleeding, too!

The last thing that Kurt could coherently focus on was the loud pounding in his ears. The sound couldn't possibly he his heart. The beat was too fast, way too fast. No, it was too slow. The noise was fleeting; getting slower, and slower, and slower… He listened to one last, weak thud, then the hectic turmoil around him blanked out, and he lost consciousness.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Cliffhanger? Wa-may a-hay a-hay... (That's 'mwa ha ha' in Pig Latin)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes:** I wrote this chapter, and I was going to update tomorrow or something, but I decided to upload today. It's great how productive you can be when you have a day off school. Haha

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><p><strong>Chapter 19<strong>

That was not his son. That was some sort of monster that vaguely looked like his son. There was no way his son would do this to himself. There was no way in hell Kurt would desire to look like _that_ thing.

Time stood still as Burt took in the appearance of — he winced— his little boy. Emphasis on little, he reminded himself, looking at the skeletal figure. Kurt was standing on wobbly feet, looking around dazedly. He was only wearing pants, but they looked very precarious on his slim waist, threatening to fall down to his ankles at any moment. His stomach was caved in, and Burt could count each rib individually. His arms were merely toothpicks poking out from Kurt's shoulders. He shuddered as he followed the prominent clavicle over to his son's neck, then his face.

Oh Lord. Burt backed himself up, hitting the doorframe as he pressed his hand over his mouth to suppress a cry of shock. His whole body rumbled violently as he continued to sob, but he couldn't look away. Kurt had thick, gray bags under his eyes, making him look even more like a skeleton. His skin was stark white, seemingly see-through. Huge, red and blistered sores clustered around the dry, cracked lips, and his whole face just seemed… _Big_. His cheeks were swollen beyond normal size, making him kind of look like a bobble head. A sick, tormented bobble head.

But what really tore Burt to pieces was the mixture of vomit and blood trailing down his chin to the rim of his pants. The scarlet fluid was still running down his chest, leaving a ruby stream in its wake.

"Kurt…" he whispered, his whole body shaking as he took a step forward. The boy's bloodshot eyes wandered around confusedly once, widened eerily, then rolled up into his head. Burt shot forward and caught his son just as he began to fall down. "Kurt!"

He was so skinny. Burt didn't have any trouble holding him up, besides the fact that it felt like he was carrying a dead person. He was almost positive this was what a corpse felt like. The bones were easily felt through the dry skin, there was no resistance to any movement Burt made, and he was fairly certain there was no movement in general. Not even the steady rise and fall of his chest. He froze, staring down at the cold body.

Kurt wasn't breathing.

He didn't even register what he was doing next. All that was running through his mind was that he may have just witnessed his son's death. But Burt did set Kurt down gently on the floor, trying to ignore the growing puddle of blood. He did pull out a phone. And he did call 9-1-1.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" Burt was silent, his mouth just hanging open as he fought for words. Just say some words. Please, think of words. Any words will do! How did he say this? What _was_ this? Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his son sitting helplessly still, waiting for his dad to take care of him. Silently, Burt promised to take care of him.

"My son," he managed to say those two words. Good start, he thought. Two words down, just a few more to go. "He's hurt."

"Okay, and where are you?" Burt told the woman his address. "Alright. Now, what happened?"

"I don't…" he moaned as he looked over at Kurt again, trying to hold back ferocious sobs. "He's bleeding, and he's… Oh my God, he's so sick."

"Sir, I need you to keep calm. An ambulance is on their way. Everything is going to be ok. Do you understand?" Her voice was all but reassuring to Burt. How the hell did she know how everything was going to play out?

"He's not breathing," he bawled, feeling useless. "Please, hurry." The woman assured him that they were moving as fast as humanly possible, and after Burt effectively yelled at her, telling her that they should be moving at superhuman speeds, he hung up. He crawled awkwardly over to his son, still tearing up.

"It's going to be alright," he said, mostly to himself. His one good arm pulled Kurt up into his lap, and he wrapped it around the frail boy's chest, holding him close. Slowly, he began to rock back and forth, howling and wailing loudly. He stayed like that until he heard the faint sirens from upstairs. When he heard the door open, he sniffled and wiped his face. "Here!" Burt shouted, then louder, "Down here!"

Four men in white suits filed into Kurt's room, towing a long, yellow board along with them. They set the board on the floor, and two of the men sprinted over the Burt and his son. They ripped his little boy from his arms, and he had nothing to grip for comfort.

He could only watch as they strapped the tiny boy onto the yellow board. They were handling him too roughly, Burt thought nervously as they so easily maneuvered the fragile frame to and fro. They put something over his mouth and held it down tightly. The four men yelled orders to each other, lifting the yellow board and heading up the stairs quickly.

And just like that, Burt was alone.

* * *

><p>Blaine was lying on his bed, listening to his 'Sappy Songs' playlist, which was currently playing My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion. He sniffled as he thought of Titanic, then thought of Rose and Jack. I'm Rose, he decided, and Jack just froze to death. Awesome.<p>

He pressed next on the playlist, resolving that that song was just too sad. It reminded him of Kurt, and how he had broken his heart. Even after — How long had it been? Two weeks? Three?— all that time, he couldn't forget about him.

"In the wee, small hours of the morning," Frank Sinatra began, immediately sending tears to Blaine's eyes.

"Dear God, no," he muttered, clicking the music off. Silence had to be better than that anguish.

He just wanted Kurt back; the old Kurt, not the new, moody Kurt. He wanted to be able to goof around with him, and tickle his sides where he knew he was very sensitive, then listen to his adorable, infectious giggle as he squirmed and jumped away. He wanted to snuggle up and watch Kurt's favorite movies, and listen to his boyfriend recite every line perfectly right as the people on screen said them. He would give anything just to see him smile again. He'd give everything to hear him laugh.

Blaine jerked his head upwards, startled, as his phone started to ring obnoxiously loud. He was going to ignore it like every other call until he listened to the ringtone. Katy Perry. Teenage Dream. Oh my God.

Kurt.

He launched out of bed, tripping over the growing pile of dirty laundry. His arms flailed madly and he stomped unnecessarily loud, but eventually he did get to the phone. Sure enough, his name flashed across the screen in large letters along with a picture of the two of them at Breadstix with breadstick moustaches. He eagerly pressed 'talk', held the phone up to his ear, then froze.

What was he supposed to say? He hadn't talked to him in nearly three weeks. Although, he had tried to make contact. Every phone call, text, e-mail, and home visit, however, had gone unanswered. With a gulp, Blaine broke the ice and started to talk.

"Kurt, I'm so, so sorry. I miss you so much. Please, can we just talk this out? I love you, Kurt, really. I'm sorry for every—"

"Blaine?" He stopped talking, frowning. That was not Kurt.

"Mr. Hummel?" He sat down on the edge of his bed, deflating completely. Well, he though sadly, I'm sure the Frank Sinatra song might help a little…

"Um, yeah…" Burt sounded sad, bringing Blaine back to the conversation. His voice was hoarse, like he had been crying. "I found Kurt's phone, and I figured I should call you." His heart skipped a beat and his stomach did a flip. Things didn't sound good.

"Why?" he asked tentatively.

"Kurt's in the hospital."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>I think the two songs are pretty obviously shown, but just in case, they were My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion, and In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning by Frank Sinatra.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes:** So, I haven't gotten much response from any recent chapters review-wise. I'm assuming everyone likes it so far? I'd like to here your opinions. Do you like where it's going?

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><p><strong>Chapter 20<strong>

Burt loathed hospitals. Not that they were made for people to love them, but all the same, he hated going. The sterile atmosphere made him uncomfortable, he always felt like doctors were lying to him, and when he wasn't the one being operated on, he honestly had no idea how to act.

He, Carole, and Finn were the only ones in the waiting room at the moment, so it was awkwardly silent. Though, Burt didn't really care; the only thing on his mind was Kurt. He couldn't get the gory images out of his mind, and he could feel the blood drying on his shirt. He just wanted to know that his son was going to be ok. That's all he wanted.

How could they expect him to just sit here and wait? Burt was tapping his foot impatiently, and he forced himself to take deep, calming breaths. How long had he been here? Three hours? Four? He looked at the clock, sighing as he realized he had only been there for about half an hour. This was absolute torture, he thought, rubbing his hand over his face. Was this what everyone else felt like when he was in here? He made a mental note to never put them through this again.

Burt glanced up momentarily at a commotion near the front counter, but ignored it and looked down at his knees. It was only someone else coming in, and he didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment unless it was a doctor or Kurt. However, he was forced to look up when a pair of black sneakers showed up by his own feet. He looked up, seeing baggy, gray sweatpants and a wrinkled, white t-shirt. The person in the comfortable ensembles had thick, curly hair that stuck out in every direction, and he needed to shave the stubble off of his face. It was only after he stared for a moment that he realized it was Blaine Anderson. He was nervously playing with his keys, and he was out of breath, making Burt wonder if he ran to the waiting room.

"Hi," Burt said quietly, not knowing what else to say. He looked into Blaine's hazel eyes, and only found worry and anxiety. The kid looked… kind of awful. Had he ever seen him so frumpy before?

"Hi," he replied in a whisper, looking down. He put his keys in his pocket and took a deep breath before continuing. "What, uh… What happened?" Burt braced himself for retelling the story, hoping he could hold up. He had been crying for the past half hour, so he figured he was probably all dried out.

"I got a call from his school, and they told me he was," he paused, not wanting to say it. If he said it, it made it real. "They told me he was sick, and that he went home. So I left work, but when I got there, I found him in the bathroom. He… There was blood everywhere. And he just," he paused again, catching his breath," fell over. I caught him, but," Burt had to stop. There was a lump growing in his throat, and he knew he couldn't hold out much longer. But when he looked up and saw the desperate look in Blaine's eyes, he choked out the last part. "He wasn't breathing." There was complete silence while the teen let the story sink in, and Burt tried to hold back more tears.

"Is he…?" Blaine looked like he was about to collapse right then and there, and Burt hated to think that he was about to be the bearer of bad news for him.

"I don't know," his voice cracked, and with that, his last nerve snapped. He broke down sobbing again into his fingers and knees, feeling ashamed. Here he was supposed to be a strong example, and he was crying like a baby.

"Kurt's strong. He can get through this," Blaine said quietly, and Burt wondered if he was talking to himself.

"I hope so," he whispered through sniffles. And he really, really hoped so.

* * *

><p><em>That was it; he had to see his son. Burt didn't want to go without Kurt any longer, and if he had to, he would burst through the room without permission. He just couldn't take it. The agony of not knowing what they were doing to his son, the torture of not even knowing if he was okay, the vague 'We're doing all we can's. All of it was surely killing him slowly.<em>

_ He stood up from his chair and made his way to the front counter. The woman behind the desk looked over at him with a friendly smile. That was a good sign, right? Smiles were always a good sign. _

_ "I want to see my son," he demanded, his voice smaller than he wanted it to be. He sounded tired and far away. The woman just continued to smile._

_ "Name?" she asked sweetly, and her voice sounded distant too, like he was listening through plugged ears. _

_ "Hummel," he said. "Kurt Hummel." This was it; he was getting to see him. Burt could just imagine his boy, healed back to normal, grinning at him from the hospital bed. No more blood, no more skeleton, no more sickness. It would just be Kurt._

_ "Are you the father?" He heard her say, and he nodded proudly. Yeah, that was his boy, strong as ever, pulling through anything. Even this. "We did all we could." His heart stopped, and he turned to look at the woman. Her smile had turned into a frown, and he felt like the air around him was growing thicker, crushing him down. No, that wasn't right. She must mean something else. They did all they could, and what? Succeeded? Yes, they did all they could and succeeded. "I'm sorry, sir," she continued, each syllable killing Burt, "but Kurt Hummel had passed away."_

* * *

><p>Burt woke up with a start, clutching at the chair arms. His breath came in short, nervous clips, and his forehead was sweating. It was a dream, he thought. No, it was a nightmare. Kurt wasn't dead, though, and that's all that mattered. He looked over at the front counter, smiling in relief when he saw that there wasn't even a woman behind the glass, just an old man.<p>

He looked around him in a daze, taking in the sans-color room. A soft hum went along with the cool breeze that came from an air vent above a bench. There was another person in the waiting room now, but they didn't seem very worried. They were reading a People magazine, flipping the pages lazily and chewing on a piece of gum. He turned away from the person so as not to make eye contact on accident, and looked at his own ragtag group. Carole was in the chair beside him, sleeping soundly. Hopefully she wasn't having nightmares like the one he had. Burt was still shaken up just thinking about it. Beside Carole, Finn was staring off at the floor, his jaw slack and his eyes glazed over. His foot tapped restlessly, which was the only indication that the teenager was even conscious. And Blaine was…

Where was Blaine? Burt looked at his other side, where there was a padded bench, but the only thing occupying it was three empty cups and a coffee stirrer. Oh, God, he lost someone's kid. He looked up and around the cold, white room, but the only other person he could see was the magazine reader. He was about to get up and go look for him when a door opened and out popped the curly-headed boy, carrying a white foam cup and stirring it with a tiny, red stirrer.

"Where have you been?" Burt asked when the teen had walked close enough to him. Blaine looked down at him with wide, excitable eyes that very much resembled a hyper-active puppy's. He took a quick gulp from his drink before replying.

"I went to get more coffee. You and Carole fell asleep a while ago, and I think Finn might have fallen asleep, because he's not moving, but I'm not sure. Anyway, I didn't want to fall asleep, too, in case a doctor came in or something, so I had to find a way to stay awake. And I remember when I was younger, I drank, like, four cups of my mom's coffee because I thought it was hot chocolate, and I couldn't fall asleep that night. So I asked that man at the front counter if they had any coffee, and he showed me a back room where, _voila_, they had coffee. He said I could have as much as wanted, so this is my fourth cup. I intend to drink as much as I possibly can so I can stay awake for you guys. So sleep away, Mr. Hummel. I mean Burt. You wanted me to call you Burt, right? I'm sorry, I keep forgetting. I'll call you Burt from now on, I promise." Burt's jaw had dropped open halfway through the conversation. Holy hell, this kid could _talk_. He looked like he was about to say more, so Burt held up his hand.

"Blaine, please, do me a favor and stop drinking coffee," he said, chuckling. He could almost see the kid's eyes dilating madly. But, instead of agreeing, he just took another long swig.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I really can't. I have to know if Kurt's okay. I really do. I think this is all partially my fault, and I just can't rest knowing that. If anything has happened to him, anything at all, I just— I couldn't—" Blaine was crying now, and Burt couldn't help but stand up and cradle him in his arms. He took the coffee away when he realized the boy was shaking like a leaf, not just from crying.

"Calm down," he urged, rubbing him on the back. Blaine was absolutely bawling now, soaking his shirt and mumbling nonsense to no one in particular. Over his shoulder, Burt could see the People magazine person staring at them relentlessly. He caught his eye and glared. "Don't you have an article to read?" he said pointedly, and the person went back to reading. The boy in his arms started to sink down, so Burt pulled him over to the bench so he could sit.

"Blaine, this is not your fault," he started, but he was interrupted when Blaine's head snapped up and he looked at him with wide, sad eyes.

"Yes it is!" he shouted, now catching the attention of the man behind the front counter. At least that man had the decency to look away quickly.

"How is it your fault?"

"I… I…" Blaine stammered looking around like he could find the answer somewhere. When nothing seemed to catch his eye, he turned back to Burt and seemed to physically deflate. "I don't know," he sighed, looking down. At least now he wasn't sobbing, he thought.

"Blaine, I didn't tell you a detail earlier, when you first arrived. I didn't want to say it, because I hoped to God it wasn't true. Saying it out loud made it real." Blaine was looking over at him with those puppy eyes again, only now the pupils were enormous because of the coffee.

"Wh- what is it?" he stuttered, sniffling and wiping away tears.

"Kurt isn't just sick," he paused, trying to think of how to say this. And, oh, how he didn't want to say this. But those begging, tired eyes across from him demanded an honest answer, and he'd be damned if he didn't give one. "I got a call from his school, and they told me he was bulimic." Blaine's eyes widened impossibly more, and he seemed to stop breathing. After a moment, though, he let out a stream of coffee-scented air. He waited until Blaine seemed to be level, then continued. "When I got home, Kurt was in the bathroom, and he had just," he was about to say something like 'he had just done_… that'_ but he stopped himself. This kid deserved the truth. "He had been puking. He's sick, Blaine, but he's _making_ himself sick. Kurt put himself here, not you."

Blaine looked away, no doubt holding back tears. He put his face in his hands for a moment, then ran his fingers through his hair, like he was just trying to comprehend what was going on. When he looked back at him, Burt noticed his eyes were completely calm. "Sir," he said quietly, and the way he said it gave Burt a heavy heart. There was some sort of wisdom in his words, like he knew exactly what was going on. "I don't think Kurt put himself here on his own. He wouldn't hurt himself like that without some sort of reason. I'm sorry, but I'm sticking by my original assumption. I think I'm partially the reason why he's here right now, and nothing you say is going to change that. Excuse me," he said, standing up again. Burt watched as Blaine paced, his shoulders slumped sadly. He had a point, though. And Burt wondered if he had anything to do with why Kurt was here right now, too.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Again, I'd love to hear your opinions. And any suggestions would be awesome, too. Right now, I'm debating with myself on how to have this story play out. If you have any ideas, please let me know in a review or something. :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes: **My expression while watching last episode of Glee: (O_O) Did you like it? I absolutely loved it! So many cliffhangers! Gah!

But anyway...

Thank you for the reviews. Again, I love to hear what you think about the story, and any suggestions are very, very welcome.

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><p><strong>Chapter 21<strong>

Burt sipped at his second coffee, wincing as it burnt his upper lip. He hated to admit it, but it really was keeping him awake. Though, he was dreading the inevitable crash. Beside him, lying with his upper half on the bench and his lower half on the floor, Blaine had his cheek pressed up against the cushion, and he was letting out a low snore. The empty foam cups were strewn around his feet, and he was still clutching onto one of the red stirrers. He had passed out about half an ago, but Burt didn't have the heart to wake him. But he swore to himself and to the teen that he'd wake him up when the doctor came out with what was hopefully good news.

"Burt, you need to relax," Carole said quietly, slipping her hand through her husband's. Burt looked over at her, knowing she was right. But how could he? Did anyone really expect him to be calm when he didn't even know if his son was alive? As if reading his thoughts, she smiled sympathetically and squeezed his hand. "Kurt's so strong, and you know that. He can make it through anything. Even this."

"I can't, Carole. Kurt's strong, yeah, but this is something beyond his control. He can't just sing a song and have the weight lifted from his shoulders. He's fighting death, here. I can't calm down. I can't," he took another gulp of the brown liquid, grimacing once more as his lip was seared.

"He's in good hands," she reassured, kissing him on his cheek.

"Yeah, well, unless they can tell me my son is alive and well I don't want to hear it," he mumbled, looking down at the coffee. He didn't mean to be taking his frustrations out on Carole, but she was there, and he was upset.

The sound of a handle turning, followed by the soft click of a door opening, caught everyone's attention, other than Blaine, who slept on. A squat man with dark hair walked into the room, his glasses falling down the brim of his nose. He held a tablet in his chubby fingers, and he flipped a page and stared at it, reading something. Burt felt like he was going to explode when he cleared his throat, still not saying anything. Carole squeezed his hand again, and he could almost hear her trying to soothe him.

"Hummel?" The doctor looked up from the pad, staring over at the small group. Burt nodded eagerly, wanting to tell the guy to hurry his little ass over here faster. Ever so slowly, the man waddled over to them, stopping in front of Burt. "I'm Dr. Whitfield; I've been working with your son," he said, as if he was important in this situation.

"And how is he?" Carole piped up, sensing her husband's obvious impatience.

"Well, he is breathing," the doctor said, smiling slightly.

"Is this some sort of joke to you?" Burt asked in a curt tone. "That's my _son_."

"I'm sorry, sir," he replied, looking a little scared. He cleared his throat and started again. "Kurt's doing much better. We've got him on a respirator at the moment; he's still a little too weak to breathe on his own. And he's receiving the nutrients and blood that he's lost through IVs. It seems he lost most of the blood through lesions in his throat and a small tear in the trachea. Considering the severity of his condition, I think your son is doing very well, and he should make a good recovery."

"Oh, thank God," Burt exclaimed, burying his face in his hands. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

"Would you like to see him?" Dr. Whitfield smiled happily, as if he was The Bringer of Greatness himself. Burt nodded and stood hastily, trying to hold back tears. He was grateful that they, for once, were tears of joy. "And him?" The doctor pointed to Blaine, who let out a snort in response.

"Oh, yeah," Burt muttered, squatting down beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder. Blaine jolted up, his eyes dilating and his expression one of shock. A red splotch was on his cheek where he was resting on the bench cushion, and the tiniest drip of drool hung on his bottom lip. "Blaine?" he chuckled, not quite sure if he was ok.

"Are you all family?" Dr. Whitfield interrupted, taking in the scene with that obnoxious smile. Burt looked from the doctor to Blaine, frowning.

"Oh, um…" Blaine seemed to realize what was going on now, and he picked himself up, wiping his face and blinking. "I'm not family, but…"

"I'm sorry, but right now I think it's best if there's only family. He hasn't even become conscious. Perhaps once he's awake." Blaine visibly deflated, but he caught a glance of Burt's pained expression and nodded his head.

"That's ok, I was going to get something from my car anyway," he said, heading towards the door. Burt appreciated the small relief. At least now he didn't have to worry about Blaine being completely heartbroken, though he knew he was hurting.

"Alright then," the doctor said, turning, "right this way."

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><p>Dr. Whitfield was a complete and utter liar. He left the family alone in the hospital room, and the three of them stared forward, hearts pounding and jaws slack. After a moment, Finn clutched his stomach and turned away awkwardly. He made a face, and looked at Carole for help.<p>

"Finn, you can go if it's too much," she whispered, and he jolted out of the room, looking paler than usual. She turned to Burt, who looked speechless. He slowly stepped toward the hospital bed, barely breathing.

This doctor is a fucking liar, he thought. He's a two-faced bastard who has ruined my son. 'He's ok', he said, 'He's much better,' he said. This is better? I'd hate to see what his worse was! Burt closed his eyes for a moment, cursing the doctor. That motherfucking, lying asshole, I hope he eats shit for dinner. It was immature, he knew, but all the same, it helped.

"Honey, I'm going to see if Finn is okay," Carole muttered, leaving somewhat quickly. Burt knew she just needed to get out, and he could see why. He glanced down at his son, taking in everything this time.

Kurt looked like a corpse they were forcing to keep breathing. His face was less swollen now, but much skinnier than usual. His cheeks were hollow and sunken into his face, along with his eyes. The bags underneath his eyes were still a dark, scary, nearly-black color. His skin was a ghostly gray, reminding Burt again of a dead body. Kurt's hair looked brittle, and when he brushed his hand through it, the locks felt dry and stiff. His son would never let his hair get like that. There was a ghastly, black-and-violet bruise on his chin that was partially hidden by the foggy mask over his nose and mouth. Was that the only thing keeping him breathing? Was that really his son's lifeline?

Burt had to look away for a moment to compose himself, and he took big, deep breaths. When he looked back, he thought his son looked even more lifeless than before. There was a grisly line of stitches across the upper part of his neck, and he assumed that was where the tear was. Although he was under a sheet, he could tell Kurt was unnaturally thin. The outline of his body was way too skinny to be normal. His arms were resting on top of the sheet, the inside of them pointed upward. He had needles jutting from every vain available. There were two coming from his hands, and another two from the crook of his arms. The areas around the needles were plump and red, indicating that they probably hurt.

What didn't look like it hurt, though? Burt grimaced at the throbbing bruise on his chin, knowing that it was painful. The swollen stitches on his neck probably added to the soreness, too. And the injuries in his throat? Yeah, he could assume those didn't feel good. He hated the fact that his son had to go through all of this. Why couldn't the hospital make any of this get better faster? He didn't want him to wake up in pain, crying because everything hurt. He just wanted everything to be better. Was that too much to ask?

Burt pulled a chair up to sit next to his son, and he reached over for his hand. Before he touched it, he reminded himself that it was probably going to be cold. It was probably going to feel, he winced, dead. His fingers wrapped slowly around Kurt's, and it was colder than he thought. The icy fingers were limp, and went wherever Burt moved them. They draped over his own fingers like wet noodles, only dry and freezing. He just had to keep reminding himself that he was alive. Kurt was breathing, healing, and very, very alive.

"Hi," he whispered, feeling kind of silly. Could Kurt even hear him? Was he supposed to talk to him? It didn't matter; he wanted to speak with his son. It had been way too long. "You'll get better," he said, shrugging. "I know right now things don't look good, but you will. The color will come back in your face, and I'm sure you can find some sort of hair stuff that'll make yours less dry. I know that hair must be killing you," he smiled, wishing he would smile back. When he didn't, his smile drooped. "You can sing, if you want to," he tightened his grip on his son's hand, urging him to sing. "I know sometimes you think I don't appreciate your talent, but I do. I really, really do. You're so good, Kurt. You have no idea how amazing you are. Not just at singing, but in general." Burt leaned forward. He had broken down a dam, and now there was no stopping the gush of words. "Everywhere you go, you make a difference. You change things for the better, and I can't imagine how this world would be without you." His voice cracked at that, and he had to force more tears back. "You're going to grow up and make more changes, ok? You have to promise me you'll get through this. When you get older, way, way into the future, you'll make more great things happen. You h-have to," he started to sniffle, so he brought Kurt's hand up to his face and gripped it with both of his. "Y-you're getting through this," he said sternly through sniffs, and he knew it had to be true. Kurt had to get through this.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes: **Have I ever said how awesome all of my reader's are? I don't know, I just felt like saying that... Anyway, now that I'm done being a weirdo... I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22<strong>

Kurt wanted to open his eyes, but then again, he most definitely did not want to open his eyes at all. His eyelids were heavier than they had ever been in his entire life, and he didn't want to even _begin_ to embark of the mission of getting them to part. Instead, he just tried to figure out what the hell was going on. The only sense he could use was smell, because A) his eyes were shut, B) there was nothing to taste, C) he couldn't feel a thing, and D) he couldn't hear anything but muffled, distant noises. It was like someone had stuck cotton swabs in his ears to deafen him. Speaking of cotton, he thought, moving his tongue (He was pretty sure he was moving his tongue.), his mouth felt like it was constructed of the fleecy fiber. He ignored it for now and tried to inhale through his nose. All he could smell was plastic and air. Did air have a smell? He groaned inwardly, wondering if he was always this weird in his mind.

Ok, what was that? Kurt thought worriedly, feeling a stab on his arm. He wanted to feel again, but he wasn't so sure about _that_ feeling. It felt like someone had stuck something into his arm, and— Ow! Ok, now they were moving it around and he could _definitely_ feel it. What were they trying to _do_? Dig for treasure? There's nothing in there, his mind shouted, wishing they'd stop. The thing dug in deeper, and Kurt could tell it was sharp as it stabbed around blindly. Cut it out, he thought, though that probably wasn't the best choice of words. However, the moving of the object stopped, much to his relief. Only now, he could only focus on the thick thing that was caught in his arm, surely leaving some sort of gaping hole in its wake.

Suddenly he felt something emitting from the object, warming the skin around it. The warmth spread up his arm, then to his chest and to his other limbs and finally to his face. His whole body felt like it was glowing in a heated blush. And with the warmth came other feelings. For instance, Kurt was pretty sure he could feel more objects sticking into his hands and other arm, though they didn't make his body feel hot. And he could feel something covering his mouth, so he figured that was whatever made him smell plastic. There was a deep throb that was coming from his chin, rocking his jaw slightly, and he could instantly tell it was a bruise of some sort. The warmth kept spreading evenly throughout his body, although there was a concentrated heat near his neck, and it kept getting hotter. Every breath he took in made the hot skin around his neck grow taught, and he wondered briefly why that was.

His mind wandered elsewhere, though, as his hearing started to clear up. A low, tuba-esque drone quickly morphed into a staccato clicking. Distant muffles turned into voices, though he couldn't make out what they were saying yet. He could hear himself breathing, though. Something was breathing along with him, too. It sounded like some sort of machine, inhaling every time he did, and exhaling along with him. Some sort of respirator? Kurt wondered, taking a deep breath with the machine. But all of this was starting to sound like a…

Hospital. Kurt thought back to the stabbing sensation in his arms and hands, and felt stupid that he hadn't instantly known they were IVs. And they had put something inside of him, probably to wake him up. And he was being forced to breath by the _mask_ over his mouth, he thought, sniffing the plastic again. As warmth spread to his fingertips, Kurt gingerly scratched at the fabric beneath his hands, which was definitely the cheap fabric of a hospital sheet. Every move of his fingers made the needle in his hand move sharply, causing him pain. Didn't they have some sort of drug to make him feel better? The bruise on his chin started to throb again, and he moved his cotton tongue around, trying to build up enough spit so he could swallow. But when he tried, the only thing it did was make him forget about the needles and the bruise. However, what it made his focus on was much, much worse.

Kurt wanted to rip his tongue out of his mouth so nothing was touching his throat. Had he swallowing a porcupine or something? How the hell did he get so many scratches in his throat? He could feel every blistering sore, and all he wanted was a nice, cold glass of water. He'd even settle for just licking the cool condensation off of the outside of the glass. Thinking about water just made it worse, though, because he wanted to try swallowing again, and he feared the scorching pain it would cause.

"The nurse put in the new IV, so he'll wake up very soon, sir," someone said, and Kurt as surprised at how close they were to his bed. How long had they been there? And more importantly, who was it? A doctor?

"Oh, thank God," another voice spoke up, and Kurt wanted to grin like a goofy little kid. That was Burt! Somewhere else, the high-pitched beeping seemed to get a little faster.

"Honey, I think he heard you." And Carole? Who else was here? The beeping continued to get faster and stronger, and it took a minute for him to figure out that it was his own heartbeat monitor, which reminded him that he was in a hospital. Why was he here anyway? For the life of him, he couldn't remember. But it didn't matter, because Carole and Burt were here, and that was the best news he had received so far.

"How long is it going to take?"

"Doesn't it take a few minutes, doctor?" That first voice was Finn, Kurt knew, mentally rolling his eyes at the obvious impatience. But that second voice… It couldn't possibly be him… Could it?

"Yes, Mr. Anderson, it does. The drug needs time to kick in first," the doctor replied, but Kurt had stopped listening after 'Mr. Anderson.' The shrill bleeping skyrocketed, and he wanted to open his eyes so badly. The impossibly heavy lids fought against him as he tried to see, so his fingers gripped weakly at the sheets for support.

"Is he alright?" Burt's worried voice piped up, and the heart monitor's beep went faster again. Kurt just wanted to see his family; that was all. But his stubborn eyes wouldn't. Fucking. _Open_.

Suddenly the warmth spread over his face, and his eyelids sprang into action, opening to let in blinding white light. Kurt squeaked and shut his eyes again, hoping he hadn't been blinded. _Blinded by the light… Wrapped up like a_— Really? At a time like this? Kurt scolded himself, carefully opening one tentative eye. He squinted at first, and once he was used to the sudden change in light, he opened the other eye, taking in his surroundings.

He was in a hospital, all right. The plain white sheets and walls, the sterile atmosphere, the flat pillow behind his head propping him just slightly up, and the people surrounding his bed, giving him worried looks. Burt, Carole, Finn, and Blaine; all of them here. He tried to smile, but the plastic mask on his face prevented him. The doctor, who was near his head, turned to him and smiled.

"And how are you feeling?"

* * *

><p>From the moment Kurt woke up, the doctor hadn't stopped talking to him. He was asking every question in the book. Can you feel this pinch? How many fingers am I holding up? On a scale of one to ten, how badly does this hurt? How about <em>this<em>? Kurt answered as best as he could, though the plastic mask around his face made it nearly impossible. Luckily, most of the questions were yes or no, so he could just nod accordingly. After a while, though, he just wanted to be left alone with his family. They stood patiently at a far wall, watching all of the tests with eyes like hawks.

"Ok, Kurt, I think I've got all the information I need for now. You're looking good," the doctor said with a grin, and Kurt looked at him oddly. Good? I feel like hell, he thought, moving his hand and getting a stab from an IV. "I'm going to change out your mask for a nasal cannula, so you can talk with your family," he said in a voice that should have been used for a little kid. Kurt glared at him when he turned his back to get whatever he had been talking about. When the doctor turned back around, he was holding some sort of long, clear tube that split off into two tubes about a fourth of the way up. He plugged whatever it was into the respirator, then turned back to Kurt.

"Since you're still weak, you'll need some help breathing. Now, when I take of your mask, you may not be able to breathe very well. Don't panic," he urged, which only made him panic. I won't be able to _breathe_? Isn't that important? Kurt watched in horror as Dr. Whitfield reached forward and removed his mask. The smell of plastic disappeared, and he tried to take a deep, refreshing breath so he could smell something else. But when he tried to inhale, he could only take in a small flow of air, like he was attempting to breathe through a tiny straw.

Kurt started to panic. The bleeping on the monitor took off again as his heart raced, and he opened his mouth to try to breathe better, but it didn't help. He just gaped awkwardly and sucked in tiny, squeaky breaths as his family worriedly sent glances to the doctor.

"Calm down," Dr. Whitfield said, wrapping the split part of the tube around his head. It went on his ears like glasses, and dropped down to his nose. Kurt flinched as the doctor suddenly stuck two prongs up his nostrils, but he sighed in relief as his breathing patterns returned to normal. "See? Nothing to worry about," he said, still sounding like he was speaking to a little kid. Kurt would have started to tell him off, but he really just wanted to see his family. The doctor checked his heartbeat one more time, then left with a stupid smile plastered on his face. The moment he was out the door, Kurt's family clustered around the hospital bed excitedly.

"Kurt, you look so much better," his dad exclaimed, standing by his head. Kurt smiled at him, and tried to sit up. "No, wait," Burt said, then grabbed a small remote. "This'll incline the bed." After a few awkward moments of button-pressing and wobbly bed-moving, they finally got Kurt in a comfortable position.

He looked down at himself for an inspection, clenching and unclenching his sore fingers. His skin seemed wash of all color, which sort of scared him. And he could point out every bone in his skeletal hands. Everyone was silent while he felt his face, poking at the cannula and running a hand through his stiff hair. His face felt kind of hard, like there was nothing between his bone and skin. There was definitely a bruise on his chin, and he winced as his fingers brushed over it. He ran a finger over his neck, touching what he was sure was a line of stitches. As he let his hands fall back down to his sides, Kurt searched the back of his mind for an explanation. The reason he was here was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn't quite get the thought to process properly.

When he looked up at everyone, they had worried expressions covering their features. Kurt smiled and tried to crack a joke. His voice was hoarse and he fought back a painful cough. It hurt to talk, but he wanted to cheer everyone up a little. "Do I look as awful as I feel?"

* * *

><p>Blaine didn't think Kurt looked terrible at all. Sure, he had seen better days, he supposed. His hair was brittle and stuck straight up in places, and his lips were red and blistered. His skin was an ashy gray, and it almost seemed to drape over his bones like a thin sheet. The hospital bed looked like it was swallowing his slender body whole, and he just, in general, looked really sick. But he was still Kurt, and Kurt was beautiful.<p>

Even considering his situation, Kurt's eyes glistened brightly with gray, green, and blue. His toothless smile stretched across his face as he giggled breathily. His adorable nose, slightly red with the cannula in it, wriggled just a little whenever he took a deep breath. He looked… at ease. As if the burden that had been hanging over his shoulders had disappeared.

Carole and Finn talked to Kurt for a while as Blaine and Burt stood at the foot of the bed. Carole seemed to be forcing a smile, with tears in her eyes as her glance fleeted from the hospitalized boy's eyes to his various injuries. Finn, on the other hand, kept cracking jokes about the cannula, and seemed intently interested in the small line of stitches on his neck. When he reached forward to poke at them, his mom slapped his hand away, scolding him in a low whisper as Kurt stifled a giggle.

After what seemed like forever, Blaine finally had had enough, and he turned to Burt nervously. "Um… Sir, could I…?" He gestured to the instrument at his feet, then peeked over at Kurt pointedly. Burt seemed to understand, and he let Finn finish one more joke before he asked Carole and him to leave.

"I promised the kid some privacy," he said when the two started to argue. When they were gone, Blaine silently thanked Burt. He turned back to Kurt, trying not to grin like an idiot when they made eye contact. It had just been so long since he had seen him, let alone been in the same room with him.

"Hi," he said quietly. Was that all he had? Was that the great line that he had picked from his collection of smooth sayings? _Hi_? If he was being honest with himself, he had no idea what to say. He was just excited to be seeing Kurt again, and the fact that he wasn't yelling at him made it much better.

"Hi," he replied, grinning happily. His swollen lips stretched out widely in a very Kurt-esque manner, making Blaine even happier. He swelled with delight, his knees growing weak. Kurt could always do that to him, no matter what. All he had to do was giggle or grin, and the Warbler got wobbly legs and a knot in his stomach. He'd be absolutely fine giving up everything in his life as long as Kurt was there with his wonderful smile. "Blaine?" Kurt's throaty voice piped up, and he realized he had just been staring at him like a freak.

"Oh, uh, sorry," he said, busying himself with picking up his guitar. When he glanced back over at Kurt, he had a confused look on his face. He still looked happy, just puzzled. "I was wondering if I could, um, sing a song, if that's… ok," he stuttered. Seriously, what was the matter with him? Blaine mentally face-palmed at his own stupidity. Why couldn't he think of something at least _slightly_ intelligent? Every time he looked at those gray-green-blue eyes he suddenly had a hard time just making a full thought, let alone a coherent sentence.

"Have I ever said no to being serenaded?" Kurt replied, batting his eyes. There it is, Blaine thought, referring to the reoccurring knot in his stomach. He put the guitar strap over his shoulder and sat down; he was pretty sure his jelly legs wouldn't hold up any more if he caught another glance of Kurt's grin. His fingers strummed over the strings once, and he was instantly lost in the music.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Sorry this chapter ended kind of abruptly. I just know myself, and if I hadn't stopped it now, the chapter would be HUGE. As it is now, the chapter is longer than the others. Do you like longer chapters? Does it matter? Do you hate my endless questions?

And by the way, I am by no means a medical expert. I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to that kind of stuff. I've done some research, but I'm basically just piecing together random facts and tidbits for Kurt. I'm sorry if anything it inaccurate, and I hope you don't mind too much, because I can guarentee a lot of things are wrong. :/


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes:** I'm sorry for the slow update. I've been having quizzes and tests nearly every day, I had to work concessions at a school function for four hours straight on Saturday, and all last week I was filming a scene from Romeo and Juliet for school. :/ I had to be Romeo. Curse you short hair! Haha (God, it was bad... None of us can act...)

But on the bright side, I am now on spring break. Woo hoo! A whole week of sitting at home and watching AVPM and Torchwood. :D

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><p><strong>Chapter 23<strong>

Kurt tried to seem at least slightly cool on the outside; even if he felt like crap and was sure he looked even worse. And then there was Blaine, who looked like he just rolled out of bed, yet still managed to look like one of those hot underwear models. His hair was shockingly curly, probably happy to breath after being smothered by gel constantly. It stuck out in one large, brown poof, and Kurt made a mental note to make sure the hair was never held down by any type of product again.

Blaine had his eyes closed as he hummed along with his guitar. His face was turned away just barely, giving Kurt a perfect view of his sharp jawline, which was dusted with dark stubble. He suddenly had the urge to pet his face, but quickly realized that was probably very creepy. To keep from thinking anything worse, Kurt focused on the song, biting his sore lip to refrain from grinning too large.

"You put on your armor,  
>You put up defenses,<br>But what are you on to?  
>'Cause I'm here to protect you.<br>So take it easy,  
>I make it so easy,<br>You can lay your head down,  
>And we'll leave it 'til tomorrow."<p>

Kurt's smile slowly faded as he realized the song was a little more serious than he thought it'd be. Blaine really seemed to be telling a story, but why? Sure, he was in the hospital, but it wasn't that big of a deal, was it? 'You put on your armor?' Kurt tried to think of something that could mean, but was at a loss. When did he put up defenses?

"You seem to believe you belong to somebody else,  
>When you leave me alone in this world you know that I'm in hell,<br>Do you know what it's like to be lonely and by yourself?

When your life is tangled,  
>You wear your disguises,<br>But what do you need to,  
>When I'm standing here beside you?<br>So take it easy,  
>I make it so easy,<br>You can lay your head down,  
>And we'll leave it 'til tomorrow."<p>

Kurt let his eyes slide out of focus as he tried to really think about the song. There was a deep meaning; he could tell by the way Blaine looked like he was about to cry. But what was it? He looked down at himself, seeing the cannula out of the corner of his eye, the IVs stuck in his arms, and his body underneath the sheet. He looked so _skinny_. Was he always that thin?

There was something at the back of his mind, but he just couldn't quite reach it. It was like there was a door, but it was locked shut, closing him out from whatever was behind it. Kurt blinked hard, looking from Blaine and back to himself, then at the room around him. Why was he here anyway?

"Slipping through my fingers,  
>And into another's,<br>Tell me why won't you turn back?"

Kurt watched Blaine's hands strummed over the guitar strings gracefully, plucking each cord with calloused fingertips. He looked down at his own hand, noticing that his knuckles were red, and that his two first fingers looked scratched. It was like something had scraped down the top of them repeatedly, wearing away at the skin. He looked at his scrawny body again, wondering how and when he became so tiny. His two fingers traced up his side, past his throat, and to his mouth, where he poked at his swollen, cracked lips. How the hell did all of this happen? Kurt took a deep breath, feeling the cold air slice down his sore throat. When he coughed in response, a familiar pain racked through his body, and his eyes grew wide as that locked door in the back of his mind flew open.

_He looked down at the ceramic bowl beneath him, watching the water bend underneath the power of his breath. His heart pounded with a strange tha-da-thump rhythm, and it echoed in his head. He knew this was wrong; he felt terrible every time he did it. But it was the only thing he was in control of, and he was not going to let it go. Bracing himself for the painful side effects, he raised his two first fingers, poising them at his lips. For good measure, he kissed the tips and smiled, opening his mouth. He closed his eyes and let out a soft moan, pushing his slender digits to the back of his throat and forgetting all of his troubles._

Kurt looked up at his boyfriend, the heart monitor going off in a wild fit of beeps in the background. Was that why he was here now? Did he put _himself_ here? His face contorted, and he hid in his hands, feeling disgusted.

"You seem to believe you belong to somebody else,  
>You know what it's like, you shouldn't have to be told,<br>When you leave me alone in this world you know that I'm in hell,  
>It's not enough, and you're running away,<br>Do you know what it's like to be lonely and by yourself?"

Blaine finished on a soft cord, and Kurt forced himself to drop his fingers back down so he could look over at him. The Warbler was setting the guitar aside and pulling the chair up closer to his head, a slight blush on his unshaven cheeks. When he looked at his boyfriend, however, a worried look came over his face.

"What's wrong? Was it the song?" Blaine looked horrified, his brown eyes growing huge and his face turning even redder. "I'm sorry. I knew I shouldn't have sung that. I should've picked a better song. No, I just shouldn't have sung. That was really stupid, I'm sorry." He looked like he was about to run off in tears, so Kurt shook his head, trying not to cry himself.

"It wasn't the song, Blaine. The song was great," he smiled. "I love it when you sing to me." Did Blaine know why he was here? The thought hadn't crossed his mind until now, and Kurt really hoped he didn't. No, he probably didn't. If he did, the Warbler wouldn't even be here. He would have run away in horror and disgust.

"Then what's wrong?" Blaine reached over and took his hand, his calloused fingers brushing softly over his red knuckles and scratched fingers. He wouldn't do that if he knew where those fingers had been and what they had been doing.

"I…" he trailed off, not sure how to phrase it. "I just didn't really know why I was here. But when you were singing…" He looked down at himself again, hiding a disgusted expression. Why did he ever decide to look like this? It was horrifying… "I remembered." Kurt looked over at his boyfriend, watching his expression carefully as it went from sympathetic to sad, and back again.

"I'm sorry," Blaine whispered so quietly, Kurt had to lean forward to hear him clearly.

"Well, I would have remembered eventually," he muttered, watching the Warbler's downcast eyes shine as they welled up with tears. "Don't worry about it."

* * *

><p>Burt looked up from his seat as the door to the hospital opened, letting another person in. There wasn't much to do while he waited to see Kurt again, so he had taken up people-watching. So far he had witnessed a skinny old man loudly demanding Midol for his embarrassed granddaughter, a pregnant woman singing Metallica to her unborn baby, and a teenage boy bragging to somebody on the phone about his "wicked broken arm, dude." But the person who had just walked through the door was the most shocking person of all. Burt stood up and shook his head. "Why are <em>you<em> here?"

* * *

><p>"Kurt, I am so sorry. About everything. You shouldn't even be here. If I would have just stopped being so self-absorbed for <em>two seconds<em>, I would have been able to see what was going on." Blaine ran a hand through his hair, and Kurt couldn't help but giggle as a finger got caught in a curl. Blaine smiled slightly and sighed. "You probably don't even want me to be here." When it looked like he might get up and leave, Kurt reached out his hand, wincing as the IV shifted in his arm.

"Of course I want you here," he breathed, not attempting in the least to hide the shocked expression on his face. "Why would I not want you here?" He watched his boyfriend settle down in his seat again and rub one hand over his baggy sweatpants. He had to admit Blaine looked pretty attractive right now, but the clothes were another thing…

"You… You broke up with me, like, three weeks ago," he whispered, looking confused. Kurt's jaw dropped. _What the hell?_

"I did?" He sat back in his chair-bed, letting his head droop back onto the pillow. He searched the back of his mind, pushing past memories of himself puking and hating everything. He tried to ignore the troubling thoughts, not wanting to deal with it right then… or ever. He turned his head to look at Blaine again, feeling the stitches tug at his skin slightly. "Why did I do that?"

"I… Well, we," Blaine scrunched up his forehead, his mouth open just slightly, as if he were thinking really deeply. "I think it was something I did."

"You _think_ it was something you did?"

"Well, I'm not sure. We were fine one second, just kissing and being silly, then you kind of…" he glanced up at Kurt, biting his lip, "Kurt, you snapped at me and broke up with me." Blaine's eyes got wide again, like he was scared that his boyfriend would snap one more time. But Kurt still couldn't remember that moment, or even why he did break up with him. Instead, the taller boy smiled apologetically, staring at him with those multicolored, beautiful eyes.

"Can I take it back?"

* * *

><p>"Are you here to see Kurt?" a nice woman behind the front desk asked the newcomer, and they nodded yes, despite Burt's mutters of protest. He watched them disappear behind a door to go off and see his son. When they were out of sight, Burt turned to Finn, who looked equally as shocked with his jaw hanging open lopsidedly and his eyes barely blinking. When Finn looked over to his dad, they both shook their heads slowly and asked the question that was running through their minds like a marathoner. "Why?"<p>

* * *

><p>Blaine was laughing along with Kurt, and it felt really good to be laughing with him again. He watched his boyfriend (He was thrilled to be calling him that again.) giggle cheerfully, his lips pulling tight over his lips and his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. He still looked incredibly tired and weak, but at least now he looked happy.<p>

"Out of everything that happened, you're most worried about the fact that you broke up with me?" Blaine shook his head, but he was flattered that Kurt was so flustered about it. That meant he really cared about him, right?

"Well I just—" Both boys looked up as the door opened, letting in another person. They were expecting it to be either a doctor or Burt, but when it wasn't, they frowned. When Blaine realized who it was, he almost laughed. Was this a joke?

"Alright, Hobbit, you can leave now. It's my turn now."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Any guesses to whom just entered the room? It's probably not very hard to guess, but whatever. Give it a go! :)

The song was Armour Love by La Roux. If you don't already listen to her, you should. She has an amazing voice. I realize the song is electronic, but there's a couple acoustic covers out there, and I think they sound awesome. Just imagine Darren Criss singing it... *smiles like a goof*


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes: **That's the good thing about spring break and I... I never have plans, so I can usually get a lot of writing in. xD

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><p><strong>Chapter 24<strong>

Kurt stared, stunned, at the figure in the doorway. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Blaine gawking wide-eyed towards them, too. When nobody said anything after the Hobbit comment, he cleared his throat, feeling the sore, dry itch that constantly reminded him of the newly-discovered secret.

"Coach Sylvester," he managed to say somewhat loudly, giving an awkward smile. "What are you doing here?" Instead of answering his question, the woman just entered the room uninvited, walking right up to Blaine and giving him a pointed look.

"I'm relieving you of your duty, soldier," she ordered, picking him up out of his chair. He just looked from Kurt to the coach confusedly.

"What? You can't—"

"Oh, you're right, Frodo, they'd never let you be a soldier. Is there a height limit or something?" Sue looked off for a moment like she was thinking about it, then grabbed Blaine by the arm and started tugging him toward the open door. He pulled away, breaking free and stumbling back to Kurt's bedside.

"She can't be serious," he muttered, and Kurt shrugged. He had known the coach for a long time… She was usually serious. He watched as the coach pointed a finger towards the door, her face becoming stern. Her other hand was slightly behind her back, barely concealing something behind her legs. Kurt was about to try to figure out what it was, but Sue was heading toward his boyfriend again. When she reached forward and grabbed his wrist, Blaine pulled his arm away, giving a flabbergasted look. "You are not permitted to touch!" he exclaimed.

"You had your turn, now scram. And take your terrible excuse for hair with you." She scowled at his brown locks.

"My hair? What's wrong with," he cut himself off, swiping the air with his hand. "Never mind that," he crossed his arms and steadied his legs, looking like he was bracing himself for a strong wind. "I'm not leaving."

"I drove all the way over here, wasting my time and my gas, and therefore wasting my life and my money," she paused. "That was a little redundant," she said, glancing back and forth from Blaine's eyes and his hair. "Now you better leave this room before… Ok, I can't focus with that thing on your head. I can't tell if it's an afro or a tiny sheep eating your scalp. Seriously, you're like a blacker version of Gary Coleman."

"What does that even mean?" Blaine was calling over his shoulder to Kurt, but Sue had already managed to push him out of the room. The door slammed shut, and Sue turned around to stare at the hospitalized boy.

"Hello," Kurt said dryly, watching her carefully as she walked toward him. She pulled her hand from behind her back, revealing a small yet beautiful bouquet of flowers. He furrowed his brow, wondering what was going on. Momentarily he thought he might be on one of those practical jokes shows.

"They're tulips," she explained, setting them down on a side table. They really were quite beautiful, he had to admit. There was a single, dark purple flower in the center of the bouquet that was as open as a tulip could be, and it was surrounded by lighter violet tulips whose petals became tighter shut the farther to the outside of the bouquet they got. "Tulips don't have much of a scent, so they probably won't make you want to hurl if you catch a whiff."

"They're gorgeous," he whispered.

"I wasn't sure what your favorite color was, so I got purple. That's your national color, right?" Kurt looked up at the coach, raising his eyebrow.

"My… _national color_?"

"Yeah," she said, as if it was a fact. "Purple is the color of gay." If he was feeling up to it, Kurt would have face-palmed. Even though it was pretty offensive, he almost laughed. Instead, he smiled and shook his head slightly, trying to enjoy the flowers despite the comment.

"Thank you," he said, nodding towards the flowers. "They're lovely. But," Kurt suddenly noticed a small comment Sue had made earlier, "how did you know to get a lightly scented flower? A nurse told me that she brought in some jasmines for me, but had to take them out because the smell was making me gag in my sleep." Sue sat down in Blaine's previous seat, crossing her legs and leaning back comfortably. "Nobody knew that. Why do _you_?"

Sue was silent, staring at him with a vague expression. After a moment, she uncrossed her legs and leaned towards him, intertwining her fingers together. "Once, there was a young teenager who felt pretty insecure. Eventually, this teenager took up puking as a way to get rid of pent up anger." Kurt felt like a little kid with her telling him a story, but all the same, he was sort of enjoying himself. "And one day, this teenager was so weak they passed out in the school bathroom with their face on the toilet seat. Later, they were found by a teacher and taken to get help." Kurt smiled and held out his hand.

"Ms. Sylvester, is this teenager you?"

"No," she said bluntly, and his smile faltered a little. "It was you." He frowned, pulling his outstretched hand back to his side.

"Oh," he muttered, suddenly remembering, albeit vaguely, that day.

"But I _did_ go through it before," she added, and Kurt looked up, surprised. "When I was about your age, I was bulimic. Everybody in my school was thin and beautiful, and then there was me. Actually, I wasn't really fat. Just a little bulkier than the other girls." Sue grimaced slightly, looking down. "I tried to exercise and eat right, but it wasn't fast enough. I thought about ways to lose weight, and that's what came to mind. For a while, it was only a couple times per week. If I ate a big meal, I'd puke and run a mile or two. Then I started to do it more, and it became a couple times per day. I made myself sick, and I wanted to stop. But I couldn't.

"It does that to you, Kurt. You become something else, and all you live for is making yourself throw up. You want to stop, but you can't. Everything else becomes obsolete and unimportant. It takes over and it kills you slowly until you end up here," she gestured to the hospital bed. "It's not worth it. It's really, really not worth it."

"You called me Kurt," he whispered, trying to blink away tears. A knot in his throat was starting to grow, making it nearly impossible to talk like a normal person. Not to mention it hurts, he thought, swallowing painfully.

"I'm sorry, is that not your name? Are _you_ Burt? Seriously, whose idea was that?" Kurt laughed, wiping away a stray tear.

"No, I'm Kurt. You've just never called me by my name before. You always have a clever nickname or something." He sniffled and cleared his throat as best as he could, trying not to sound like he was in pain. "You were the one who got me help?" She nodded, not saying anything. "Thank you," he whispered. "How did you know?"

"I knew what to look for. Everyone else just thought you were depressed, but I could see the signs. The weight loss, the tiredness, the bloodshot eyes and puffy cheeks. It was really obvious if they would have just looked. When I found you in the bathroom, that was the last straw. I tried to get you help, but, again, they thought you were depressed. By the time I finally told them what was going on, you had crossed the line."

"The line?" Kurt asked, not sure how he felt being talked about like this. He knew he had been there and experienced all of these things, but it was like he was hearing about it for the first time. Until she actually said it, he didn't remember it at all. She made it real.

"There's a moment when you stop being you, and you become the disease itself. It completely destroys you. It happened to me, and I didn't want it to happen to you, too. It's terrible. But I was a little late." Sue looked away, and Kurt swore he saw her eyes glistening. But when she looked back, they were completely dry, giving no indication that she was going to cry. He thought he might have just made it up.

"Thank you for trying," he said, laughing slightly. He winced as his throat became dry again, forcing him to swallow. When he did, it hurt just as badly as it did before.

"I know the feeling," she murmured, smiling slightly. He rested his head on the pillow, nodding. "The sore throat won't end quickly. You'll still have a slight gag reflex for a while, too. The headaches won't last long, though. And you'll get some more energy soon." It was kind of creepy, Kurt thought. It was like she was inside of his head.

Kurt didn't think he had ever seen the coach be so kind before. She was leaning back in her chair again, staring at him with soft eyes. Soft eyes? He laughed, thinking that he had never said that before. Sue looked… content. He smiled at her, and she instinctively smiled back. Suddenly, her smile fell and she stood up, clearing her throat.

"Well, I'm going to head home," she said, pulling her jacket straight. "This was all a _complete_ waste of my time." Kurt grinned, watching her hastily walk off. Before she left, her feet stopped and she turned, a familiar glint in her eyes. "Porcelain?"

"Yes, coach?" he asked, stifling his smile and bracing himself for whatever she was going to say.

"I've just been wondering this for a while now. Would you cancel out if someone put you in a straight jacket?" Kurt groaned and rolled his eyes, waiting until Sue had left before he grinned and looked over at the tulips. She could insult him all she wanted, but he knew there was a part of her deep down that felt for him. Exhausted, he closed his eyes, falling asleep with a slight smile still on his lips.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> I think this story may be coming to a close soon(probably really soon, actually). I don't think I'm going to write out all of the healing process and stuff, unless everyone really wants me to. :P If anyone has anything they'd like to see before this story ends, though, let me know. Any loose ends you think should be tied up.

DFTBA :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes:** Since everybody seemed to want to see at least _some_ of Kurt's recovery, I'm going to go ahead and write that. I have a few more ideas now, anyway... :)

I'm amazed that some people come across this story and read it all in one sitting. Holy crap. You're insane. (However, you are awesomely awesome and completely made of awesomeness.)

This chapter has some Burt and Kurt action. Not like _action_ action, that's gross, just like... oh, never mind...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25<strong>

Burt was absolutely elated, yet at the same moment he was heartbroken. He was finally given permission to bring his son home after two days of endless tests and induced sleep. Kurt had to be given painkillers galore, which meant he had been asleep most of the time Burt was able to visit him. He was awake now so they could take him home, but Burt really wished he wasn't.

He was torn as he stood in a corner of the hospital room, watching as they tried to gently move Kurt from his bed to a wheelchair. He hadn't been given any painkillers, because the doctors had to know if something suddenly began hurting badly, so his son had to feel everything. Kurt's face was contorted in agony as he was lifted, and he kept muffling squeaks of pain in a nurse's shoulder. They set him down on the wheelchair and gave him a minute to breath. They were speaking to him, but Burt couldn't make out what they were saying. His son just nodded slightly, breathing deeply and looking abnormally pale.

Beside him, Carole rested her head on Burt's shoulder. She was the only one there other than himself. He had sent Blaine home long ago, and the kid offered to give Finn a ride, too. He almost had to argue with his son's boyfriend to get him to leave, though. If it was up to Blaine, he'd skip every day of school until Kurt was better.

Speaking of Kurt, he thought, looking down as they wheeled his son up to him. Kurt was gripping the armrests of the chair tightly, his slender fingers turning white. He was already wearing some oversized sweatpants and a t-shirt; they had helped him change earlier that morning. He still had the cannula in, but the doctor's had told him he didn't have to wear it unless he was moving around a lot. Despite how much physical pain that he was obviously in, Kurt was looking up at him, grinning gleefully from ear to ear. Burt smiled back, his heart getting heavy.

"Mr. Hummel, I just need you to sign some papers, and you and your son can be on your way," a nurse said, holding up a small stack of papers and a pen. Burt nodded, still smiling as he watched Carole start to wheel Kurt off.

* * *

><p>Getting Kurt into the car was even worse than watching the doctors get him off the hospital bed, Burt thought, hating every second of this. He had Kurt's shoulders cradled in his arm like a little child, and his head was dangling backwards, like he couldn't support it himself. His jaw was clenched shut, most likely to hold back a scream. Burt tried to move fast, plopping him into his seat hastily. The worst part was knowing that he was inflicting the pain himself.<p>

"I'm sorry," he whispered watching his son's chest heave. Kurt looked over at him, staring at him with his mother's eyes and giving him that heavy-hearted feeling again.

"Dad, I'm fine," he replied, his voice cracking and hoarse. "I swear." He smiled, stretching his slightly-blistered lips over his teeth. Burt nodded and shut the door, folding up and putting the wheelchair into the back. When they got home, he had to do it again, and Burt knew he was never going to get used to seeing his son's face twisted in anguish like that. They were home again, though, and that was all that mattered to him. He held back a ridiculous grin as he wheeled his son to the front door.

* * *

><p>Kurt wanted to jump out of that stupid chair and kick down the front door like they did in the movies. However, there were two problems with that scenario. One, he was still too weak to even stand up without feeling like he had just run a marathon in the summer with no hydration, and two, he wouldn't be able to kick the door down even if he was in perfect health. The point was, Kurt just wanted to be home again. He missed his bed, he missed his clothes, he missed his room, and he missed everything else in that house.<p>

The door opened, and Kurt almost did that stereotypical gay boy clap, accompanied by a high-pitched squeal. Instead, he just looked around, his eyes wide. Everything looked like a fucking rainbow compared to the plain white walls of the hospital room. There were reds and blues, greens and yellows… Hell, he was even excited about the browns and tans. Anything but black and white, he openly welcomed.

And the _sounds_! He was surprised at how many things he had missed hearing. A clock was ticking monotonously in the background, and he was thrilled that it didn't match his heartbeat at all like the heart monitor had. The air conditioning whirred somewhere behind him, and he could faintly hear the neighbor's dog barking. And there wasn't any obnoxious beeping and buzzing from any nearby machinery, so he considered that a plus.

The smells, however, were something he had grown accustomed to not having to deal with. Anything that smelled too strongly made him sick to his stomach, and the doctors had told him it was a gag reflex or something. Luckily, Kurt couldn't really smell anything too bad besides a strong vanilla scent coming from a candle. He inhaled deeply, figuring he might as well try to get used to the smell quickly. Instead, he just caught a sour scent from somewhere else. It didn't make him feel nauseas, but it was pretty gross. He looked around for a moment, then paused, frowning. He tilted his head down so his chin hit his chest, and he sniffed, groaning. It was _him_.

"Hey Dad?" Kurt mumbled, tilting his head back so he could look as his dad. Burt looked down at him, seeming worried. He didn't doubt it was because he had nearly blacked out when his dad got him out of the car.

"Yeah, bud?"

"Can I take a shower?" Burt laughed, rolling him into the living room. Finn walked in from the hallway, smiling at Kurt and sitting on a recliner.

"Kurt, you can't even stand on your own. And unless you want either me, Finn, or Carole to help you out with it…" He trailed off, shaking his head. Kurt frowned and tried to ignore the ugly smell coming from his body. Did nobody else smell this? he thought, thinking that if they did, they'd immediately submerge him in a bath.

"We could call Blaine over and he could help you out," Finn piped up, making all heads turn first to him, then to Kurt. He felt his face grow red, and he glared over at his brother.

"I'm going to have to nix that idea in the bud," Burt said, clapping his hands together, "but nice try."

"It wasn't even my idea," Kurt protested, crossing his arms. His dad walked from the room, and he turned to his brother. "Really, Finn? Really?" Finn just shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

* * *

><p>Burt was freaking out. Kurt was hungry, but everything he tried to feed him made him gag by the smell alone. He was dead tired, but he couldn't sleep because he was in too much pain. He wasn't allowed to have painkillers for another twelve hours by doctor's orders, and Burt had no idea how to make it better. He had already put him on the couch so he could lie down, but it wasn't helping. Kurt was currently curled into a ball, clutching a pillow to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut. Burt had called the hospital twice already, but they insisted it was normal that he would be experiencing pain, and it was fine as long as he wasn't bleeding or dying.<p>

If this was normal, he would hate to see what their definition of bad was.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Burt asked, rubbing his back gently as Kurt moaned tiredly.

"Painkillers?" he slurred, looking up at him with those pathetic, sad eyes. Burt sighed, sure that his heart just broke.

"Kurt, you know I can't give you them for another," he checked the clock and frowned, "nine hours."

"I know," he squeaked pathetically, hiding his face in the pillow.

"Come on, there's got to be something I can do for you," he begged, hoping there was. He wanted to help in any way possible. He just hated seeing Kurt in so much pain, and he felt utterly useless.

From the kitchen, Finn walked in, whistling obnoxiously loudly. In his hands, he held a big plate of waffles soaked in maple syrup. Burt didn't have to look down at Kurt to know what was going to happen, but he did anyway. Kurt looked up from his pillow, staring right at the plate of food. His nostrils grew slightly wider as he took a whiff, and his face suddenly fell and grew white as the color disappeared.

"Finn! Get out!" Burt ordered, and the tall boy paused for a moment, then seemed to realize what he had done. Finn gripped the plate tightly and sprinted back into the kitchen, screaming apologies on his way out. When he was gone, Burt grabbed Kurt's shoulders and held him up, holding a small rag under his chin to wipe away spit as he gagged. They didn't bother to put a bucket or trashcan by the couch, because Kurt didn't even have anything to throw up. His body racked as he coughed, and tears spilled down his pale cheeks. After a few seconds, he calmed down, his chest moving up and down violently as Burt laid him back down.

"Do you want the cannula?" he asked worriedly, watching his son struggle for calm breath. Kurt shook his head, attempting the breath out of his nose but failing miserably. It killed Burt to see him so desperate to be independent. He knew it must be terrible to be so weak he couldn't even breathe properly on his own. Despite his protest, Burt wheeled the small oxygen tank over to the couch, holding out the clear, plastic tube. After another moment of Kurt trying to breathe out of his nose, his son nodded, allowing him to put the cannula around his head. "You okay now?" he asked, and Kurt nodded meekly, looking away and playing with the plastic tube. "Throat hurt?" he ventured, seeing the pain in his eyes.

"Really, really bad," he whispered laboriously, tearing up again. Burt pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug, wishing he could be the one in pain instead. He'd give anything to switch places with his son.

* * *

><p>"Carole, I'm so bad at this. I can't help him with anything," Burt said, covering his face with his hand. "I know I'm just making it worse."<p>

"Stop this," she said, pulling his hand away and gripping it in both of hers. She looked at him sternly, shaking her head. "You are not causing him this pain. If anything, you're making it bearable. You are his _father_, Burt, and he needs you. Without you, he wouldn't be able to do this." She smiled and kissed his knuckle, standing up. She patted his head as she walked around the table and to the sink. "Now go be his dad and help him out."

She was right, Burt thought, standing up. He headed into the living room, thinking up several things he could do to help. He could get a better pillow for him to grip; he could change the channel on the TV or rent a movie for him to watch; he could even try to get him to eat something again. In fact, there was a plethora of things for him to help with. He wasn't useless, he was his dad. And he would help in every way possible.

"Kurt, do you—" he froze, looking down at his son, who wasn't moving. His heart nearly stopped, and his stomach did a flip. Kurt's face was turned towards him, his eyes shut and his forehead slightly crinkled, like he had been in pain. Burt suddenly remembered a doctor warning him that it was a bad sign if his son passed out from pain. In a split second, Burt was on his knees, holding his son's face in his hand. "Kurt?" he said intensely, shaking his head ever so slightly. Kurt's eyelids dragged open, revealing glazed-over, tired eyes. He blinked a couple times before looking up at him and frowning. Burt's heart sank.

"Whasit?" he slurred, blinking a few more times. His grip on the pillow tightened, and he groaned quietly.

"You… You were sleeping, weren't you?" Burt asked, and Kurt nodded, his face contorting slightly in pain. "Oh, God," he muttered, "I'm so sorry, Kurt." His son just moaned in reply, sighing and looking away. Burt stood up to leave, wanting to crawl into a ditch and die. He was so bad at this…


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes: **I... I am so sorry... Seriously, I have no words to express how sorry I am. I have no good excuse for the hiatus on this chapter. I was on a Torchwood fix, and I was like, "Hey, why don't I try to write a little Torchwood fic?" so I did, and... I just kept writing it... And writing it... And writing it... The point is, I got very distracted from this Glee fanfic. I'm sorry. :(

But here it is, finally. Please forgive me.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter<strong>

_Click-click click click-click click click-click click…_

"Mr. Anderson, if you would please stop the pen clicking?" Blaine looked up, his thumb freezing on the pen in his hand. The teacher was glaring at him through thinly-framed glasses, her blue eyes surprisingly fiery. He nodded, but had to click it closed once more, earning himself another glower.

She turned back around to blabber on about some long-dead general, and while everyone else was taking notes, Blaine was staring at his paper and thinking about Kurt. He didn't want to be here; he wanted to be at the Hummel-Hudson house, taking care of his boyfriend. Kurt needed him now more than ever, and he wanted to help now more than ever. This whole thing felt like his fault, and he wanted to be there to help him through it. It was the least he could do, right?

_Tap-tap-tap-tap tap-tap-tap-tap tap-tap-tap-tap…_

"Mr. Anderson!" Blaine's head snapped up, and his fingers tightened around his pen, stopping it from drumming on the wooden tabletop. The teacher was staring at him, a frustrated look on her face. Around him, students were hiding chuckles, smiling behind their hands and sending him amused glances. One student was even air-drumming enthusiastically as a joke. Blaine stared wide-eyed at the teacher, trying to pull off his signature puppy-dog eyes.

"Sorry, Ms. Knight," he said, smiling apologetically and hoping desperately that his most charismatic grin was enough to charm her. Unfortunately, it wasn't.

"Well, maybe the principal will be more amused by your persistent drumming," she said, pointing to the door. He stood, and suddenly the blue and red blazer around his shoulders felt extremely itchy and hot. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, and the amused chuckles quickly dissipated into sympathetic glances and encouraging looks. When Blaine passed him at his desk, Trent patted his back reassuringly.

Stopping at the door, he turned and gave the teacher one last, desperate look, hoping to successfully look like a kicked puppy. He didn't really care, though. He was too busy worrying about Kurt to actually learn anything. As he left the room, the door clicked shut behind him, he figured it was better being out of the classroom anyway.

Blaine wondered briefly how long until the entire school knew that he had been sent to the principal. The school was filled with exceptional students, and most did not get sent to the office very often, besides a very select few. And now the lead Warbler was in trouble? The universe must be imploding! He chuckled to himself, walking remarkably slow down the hallway. There was no hurry, after all. Ms. Knight said to go to the principal; she didn't say when to get there.

As he turned the corner, Blaine stopped. The principal's office was right ahead, awaiting his arrival so he could be disciplined about pen-clicking and tapping on desks. However, directly adjacent to the office was the front door to the school. The door was made of glass, giving him a perfect view of the parking lot. Blaine could even spot his car near the front; it'd be easy enough to get to, he thought, biting his lip.

His eyes danced back and forth from the office to the parking lot as he thought deeply. He was being sent to the office for clicking his pen, which hardly even counted as a true classroom disruption. If everybody was going to know he was sent to the principal, shouldn't he at least have a good reason? Like, perhaps, leaving the school premises before permitted to by law?

No, he couldn't do that, Blaine scolded himself for even thinking about doing that. He started to walk slowly forward, intending to go to the office, just like he had been told. A picture of Kurt, scrawny and sick, flashed through his mind, and he swallowed deeply. Well, he figured, glancing towards the office. It was now or never.

Keep cool, Blaine. Just keep cool. If you look like you know what you're doing, they'll think you have permission. He could feel sweat dripping down his back as his feet dragged against the ground, pulling him closer and closer to the door. His arms came up, and he pressed his hands against the bar, pushing the door open and letting in the cold air. A small smile crept up onto his lips as he took the first step outside.

"Excuse me, where do you think you're going?" Blaine's heart stopped cold as the sound of the secretary's voice piped up. He considered lying, but he was a terrible liar, and he knew it. Another image of Kurt played through his mind, and he set his jaw, not even turning around to look at the secretary. His feet pounded against the pavement as he bolted across the parking lot to his car, his tie flapping wildly behind him and the woman loudly demanding to know his name. A wide grin spread across his face as he slammed his car door shut behind him and started the engine.

"I'm such a," he paused, holding back a giggle, "badass," he finished quietly, driving away.

* * *

><p>Blaine hesitated when he stepped up to the Hummel-Hudson household. The last time he'd seen Kurt, the boy was sickly and swallowed up by hospital sheets. He could barely speak or move his arms, and he was afraid he hadn't got better. What if Blaine walked into the house and Kurt was still fighting to move his head back and forth? What if he had gotten worse?<p>

He sucked in a deep breath and shut his eyes, lifting his closed fist to the wooden door. He rapped a shaky rhythm, then stepped back to wait. It seemed like forever before the door finally opened. When it did, Blaine wasn't sure whether he should smile at Burt or not. The father looked kind of odd. His eyes were wide, with dark, heavy bags underneath, he kept blinking hard, like he was trying to wake up, and he almost had a look of shock on his features.

"Blaine?" The Warbler stood awkwardly, tugging at his tie.

"Could I see Kurt?" His voice was smaller than he would have wanted. Burt didn't say anything else, but yawned and opened the door wider. When he walked into the home, he expected to hear the familiar bleep that came from a heart monitor. He expected Kurt to still be hooked up to the machine, small and helpless. He expected… Well, he expected anything but _that_.

Sue Sylvester was lying back in a recliner, her feet up and her hands behind her head casually. When Blaine walked into the living room, she looked up at him and frowned.

"Who invited Teen Schuester?" She glanced at his hair and looked revolted. "The two of you are the sole reason for global warming. You should be ashamed," she said. Then added softly, "So much hair product…"

Blaine self-consciously patted his hair, feeling the familiar locks resist any movement. He was about to protest when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. When he turned, his jaw nearly dropped.

Kurt Hummel walked into the living room from the kitchen, his head held high, determined. His still-swollen cheeks were slightly flushed, splotched with a pale pink, which contrasted greatly with his pastel skin. His eyes looked gray in the light, and they looked surprisingly healthy. There were only very small, sleepy bags underneath; there were no more dark, spooky rims. His lips were still blistered, but they were characteristically set and stone, reminding Blaine of the old Kurt.

But his healthier-looking features weren't the only things that shocked the Warbler. The most astonishing thing was the fact that his boyfriend was dressed in a formal tuxedo, a white towel hung over his arm and a platter in his hand. Resting on the platter was a small bowl and a glass of water. Blaine tried not to laugh as Kurt walked up to Sue and leaned down, showing her the assortment. His boyfriend was a _butler_?

* * *

><p>Kurt hated his life, he had decided. That was the only logical thing to do, really. Once he was forced to make coach Sylvester a meal, he started get a little irritated. After he had been put into formal attire, he had started to lose his cool. But the deciding moment was when he had to bring it in on a silver platter and act like her waiter. Or, as she said, her waitress.<p>

He would have had his dad send her away had she not actually been helping him feel better. It killed him to admit that he didn't feel like death, and it wasn't because of painkillers. Her stupid errands she had him doing kept him too busy to think about the pain in his stomach. It still hurt to talk, but luckily coach Sylvester had told him his voice made her cringe, so he wasn't permitted to speak very often. Sure, the things she made him do were humiliating, but it worked. And Kurt was desperate.

As he lifted the plate of rice and water— a strange combination she had demanded— he could hear her speaking from the other room, no doubt complaining about the "slow service." With a mumble about where the coach should shove the rice, Kurt walked into the living room, trying his best to look confident in what he was doing. Though he wasn't sure that being pain-free was worth this embarrassment. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Blaine and his heart jumped up into his throat. He could feel his cheeks grow hot with a humiliated blush, but kept his eyes forward, trying to focus on coach Sylvester. If she saw him fumble because of his boyfriend, she'd probably make him cook the food all over again, only blindfolded.

"Your food," he whispered hoarsely, leaning down to show her what was on the platter. She peeked at the food, then looked up at him, a strange gleam in her eyes. He could feel his heart starting to pound as he realized he was going to have to redo it.

"It's not mine," she said, waving him off. Kurt stood up and looked at her strangely, raising an eyebrow. Rice, water… There wasn't much to get wrong here. "It's yours."

"Excuse me?" Kurt coughed out in surprise, his throat itching painfully. He had to _eat_?

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>I apologize for the abrupt ending; I didn't want to ramble on about food yet. I have an idea about the ending, too, so that's good. I think I know how it'll all turn out. :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Note:** Well, this is it. FINAL CHAPTER! I'm sorry I've been so erratic with my updates; I've never been this bad before. This story was kind of hard to write, though I'm not sure why. I've been writing then rewriting these last chapters _SO_ many times. It's ridiculous.

There will be further notes at the end, so until then, please enjoy. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 27<strong>

Kurt wasn't specifically against eating, per say, he just wasn't completely positive he'd be able to keep anything down. Walking around had made him feel a little better, but that didn't entirely take away the clawing in his stomach and throat. Even as he sat down at the kitchen table he could feel those little granules of rice being forced down his throat, leaving behind a familiar pang. Beside him, coach Sylvester pulled out a chair and sat down. He could hear the swish of her pants as she crossed her legs. He looked over at her.

"Don't give me that look, Demi Lovato," she snapped, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

"It won't stay down," Kurt said, and he was surprised at his own voice. He was so sure his voice would come out confident and certain, and instead he just sounded like he was hissing at her. He could hardly make his voice be above a whisper.

"Trust me," she said, less mocking now. "You need to eat, and the only thing that'll work right now is something bland and boring. Have you caught a whiff at some other food?" she asked, and he nodded slightly, his face growing pale as he remembered the stack of pancakes Finn had. He tried not to recall the smell. "Made you sick, didn't it?" He nodded again, surprised that she had known. It was hard to remember that she had been through all of this; she seemed too strong. "You can start with some water if you want."

Kurt looked at the clear glass and watched a drop of condensation bead up and travel down to the tabletop, leaving a watery trail in its wake. His hand reached over, and he wrapped his fingers around the cup, sliding it closer to him. The water on the top shook as he lifted the glass, and he tried not to envision the first time he puked; the water in the toilet had done the same thing.

"I don't have all day," Sue boomed, though he could tell she wasn't really annoyed. He figured she'd probably wait there for as long as he needed. "I have important things to do."

"Like what?" Kurt laughed, turning his gaze toward her. What exactly did the coach do outside of school? He couldn't picture her doing anything but jumpsuit-shopping and making health shakes.

"I like to be home by six so I can take my daily bath in the tears of hungry Asian babies," she replied coolly, lacing her fingers together. He didn't even bother looking at her, so he just nodded as if it was completely natural.

"Good for you," he offered quietly, and added, "To hungry Asian babies." He lifted his glass in cheers and brought the rim to his lips, breathing in before he took a drink. A cold stream of air passed over his tongue and dissipated before it reached his throat, much to his disappointment. His throat itched for something, anything, to make it feel better, and he thought maybe cool water would do the trick. Without another thought, he tipped the glass and his head back, stifling a sigh of relief as the cold liquid soothed his sore throat. He didn't even feel embarrassed as he guzzled the entire thing, down to the very last drop; it felt too good.

Kurt set the glass down, slightly breathless, and looked over to coach Sylvester, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression. Neither of them said anything, but Kurt knew they were both thinking about the rice now. He stared at the small, white grains and frowned. They didn't seem _that_ terrifying. Getting them down was the easy part, though. The part he was afraid of was when they came back up.

"You won't puke," she muttered, as if reading his thoughts. He shrugged, not sure what else to do. "You have to eat."

"What if it makes me sick?" Kurt turned his head toward her, a lump rising in his throat and a weight growing heavy in his chest. He really didn't want to puke again; it hurt too much. And if he did, he just pictured himself in the hospital again, surrounded by frightened family members. It was too painful; for everyone.

"I promise you it won't make you feel sick. If you can do this, you can do anything, Porcelain." The added nickname took away from the heartfelt meaning, but Kurt nodded anyway, figuring it was asking too much of her to call him by his name again.

They were alone in the kitchen, which made it a little easier in some ways and harder in others. He was grateful Burt, Carole, Finn and Blaine weren't there with him, though he was sure they were right outside the doorway, listening in silence. Knowing that their eyes weren't on him relieved some pressure. However, with only two of them in the kitchen, it was excruciatingly quiet. As he picked up a spoon, the only sound was his own breathing, and he swore the coach had turned to stone beside him.

With a harsh, deep breath, Kurt took the first bite.

* * *

><p>"Well, I'm off," Sue said, standing up from the couch. Everyone was in the living room, minus Kurt, who had gone to bed after his 'meal.' It had been completely silent for the most part for nearly twenty minutes, because no one really wanted to say anything. "Although I do enjoy palpable awkwardness, I have to get home so I can attend to my thriving armadillo farm."<p>

"So soon?" Blaine said sarcastically, still sore about the attack on his hair.

"If I hit you on the head with a bat, would you actually feel it?" Sue retaliated, and the Warbler just grumbled to himself and stood up.

"I think I'm going to head out, too. Could I say goodbye to Kurt?" He turned to Burt, who looked terribly tired in his spot on the couch. The bags underneath his eyes were huge, and he was slumped forward, as if physically exhausted.

"If he's awake," he replied quietly, and Blaine nodded and walked towards his boyfriend's room. Behind him, he heard the coach leave, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Blaine tapped lightly on the wooden door before turning the knob. There had been no reply, so he assumed Kurt was asleep. But when he peered in, there was no one in the bed. The blankets were twisted up and half hanging off of the side of the bed, as if someone had crawled out still entwined in the sheets.

"Kurt?" He called out, stepping into the room. It was eerily silent, other than his own breathing. He was about to say his name again when a small, stifled cough sounded from somewhere to his right. Following the cough was the flush of a toilet, and Blaine's stomach dropped with a realization. He strode over to the bathroom door and opened it slowly, and he had to close his eyes for a moment when he saw him. "Oh, Kurt…"

The taller boy was on his knees, holding himself up with his arms. He was looking at the tile floor, tears streaming down his swollen cheeks and dripping onto the ground beneath him, pooling around his slender fingers. His entire body was trembling, his shoulders shaking most obviously. Blaine could tell whenever he was holding back a sob by the occasional quake that rolled down his back.

"Kurt, baby," he whispered, walking forward unsteadily. He kneeled before his boyfriend, reaching out and pressing a palm to his shoulder. The bony shoulder shuddered under his fingers, and Kurt refused to look up from where he was staring.

"I'm sorry." Blaine wasn't even sure that Kurt had spoken, but then he looked up from the tile and stared at him with his glassy, multicolored eyes. "I'm sorry," he breathed again, choking on the words themselves. The way his voice cracked with emotion made Blaine's heart break a little, and he could feel his own eyes starting to water.

Not knowing what else to do, Blaine crawled forward and wrapped his arms around his unnaturally thin boyfriend. He pulled both of their bodies back so they were leaning more comfortably against a wall. His fingers were resting somewhere on his ribs, which he could feel through Kurt's thin shirt. The taller boy's head was rested in the crook of Blaine's neck, his stiff hair brushing up against his chin playfully. The scene was so natural, but it felt weird. The Warbler kept mentally noting the things that made the moment different, but he couldn't help but feel like the scene was completely perfect. As long as he was with Kurt, everything was perfect.

"I'm sorry," Kurt mumbled into his shoulder, his body trembling under his fingers. Blaine held him tighter, closing his eyes.

"Stop it," he whispered. "Just stop beating yourself up." He started rubbing comforting circles on his back, and he waited for the quivering to settle down slightly. When it did, and Kurt was still sniveling quietly, Blaine pushed his shoulders back until the taller boy was sitting back and looking at him. "I'm going to help you through this. I swear to God, I will be here with you through it all. You're going to get better, Kurt." Kurt nodded, his face contorted as he tried not to start crying again. When he opened his mouth to talk, all that came out was a strangled sob, and he leaned forward, hiding his face in Blaine's shoulder again. The Warbler put his arms around him, trying not to notice how tiny he was. "I promise," he muttered into the stiff yet soft brown hair, "you will get better."

Blaine closed his eyes, trying to imagine this same scene, but with Kurt healthier. He wasn't able to feel the sharp jab of his ribs or spine; his breathing didn't seem laborious; his eyes were bright again, instead of glassy and distant. The scene was absolutely perfect. Blaine smiled to himself, making a promise that he _would_ be there to help. He _would_ see Kurt get better. He hugged his boyfriend firmly, closing his eyes contentedly. With that promise, he felt a weight lifted off his chest, because he knew Kurt would get better, and he knew that perfect scene would become reality.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Ok, so thank you to everyone who has stayed with me throughout these terrible erratic updates. Thank you to all of the lovely reviews and alerts and favorites. You are all so amazing!

Now onto reflection time. :/

I'd be completely lying if I said I was 100% happy with this story. I liked some parts of the story, and I hated others. There are scenes I am happy with, and there are scenes that I want to set on fire and watch burn. For instance, I loved writing Sue (and I hope I did well because she is SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE!), but it was a little harder to write Will and Emma, so I think that showed in the story. I'd be the happiest geek in the world if you might share with me what you thought of this story. I was wondering what parts you liked/disliked. I won't be hurt if you say you hated certain parts, because I probably agree with you.

I hope that note doesn't make it seem like a hate this story, because I don't. I don't think it's the best story I've written, but I certainly think I've written much worse. Thank you again for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoyed it more than I did. I love you all, and you are all AWESOME! :)


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